


Written in the stars

by stilinskisoul



Category: Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (2010), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Bottom!Stiles, M/M, Minor Violence, Top!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles arrives to Camp Half-blood. He's the only one there whose godly parent's identity is unknown and he also sucks at fighting. He needs to train himself to give a better performance not to hold back the members of his team. One of them is always fed up with him.</p><p>And for the time being, someone tries to kill all the demigods in the camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> **UPDATE 12. 11. 2014.:** I officially put this story on hiatus now. I have no idea when I'll be able to write the promised epilogue to it. I'm overburdened with my studies at the moment, plus I have a lot more ideas for Sterek stories, which are (in my opinion) a lot better than this one. I'm sorry if you were eager to read it, but one thing I know for sure: the epilogue isn't going to be written anytime soon.

Stiles approaches the wooden arch. He stops right in front of it and looks up at the sky where silver clouds are floating away fast. It was even grumbling a few times during the trip, notifying there will be a thunderstorm soon. Then Stiles' eyes drop lower, to the top of the arch which reads “Camp Half-blood” with clumsy, angular letters etched into the wood. A quiet, soft sigh escapes from Stiles' slightly parted lips which urges his attendant – a satyr, named Vernon Boyd – to look at him with a smile, yet a questioning face.

“Is there a problem, Stiles?” he asks. The response is a simple headshake.

“They could have given a more imaginative name,” he states before bracing himself to start walking again. He only has a backpack plus a rather big sports bag on his shoulders, latter hung on his bust crossed.

Stiles walks passed under the arch, and so does Boyd. “This way,” he says, pointing in the direction of a smoke that's on its way upwards, towards the troposphere. Stiles tilts his head to the side like a curious cat before following the satyr.

“And back to the Middle Ages,” Stiles mumbles to himself under his breath.

“What'd you say?” asks Boyd, turning back to him and dragging Stiles back from his daze. He shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

They fall to silence again. In a matter of a few more minutes they arrive to their destination which is a wooden cottage that's merely a few meters away from the huge lake. The picturesqueness of the sight purely amazes Stiles. Boyd is smiling at him.

“I thought you'd like it,” he says, but Stiles doesn't even seem to hear it. “I'll go and tell the others you've arrived, too, then I'll be back here to take you to them.” He eyes Stiles for a little while, waiting for a response, unnecessarily. Even though he doesn't get one, he just shrugs and leaves anyway, considering it's never mind, since Stiles will know about what he said in a handful of minutes. 

While Boyd's away, Stiles gives himself a quick tour in the cottage. It merely consists of two parts with only a wall dividing them from each other – a bedroom-like place and a small one which supposedly stands for the duty of a wardrobe. A balcony is also attached, which is facing the calmly waving lake. Since he has nothing better to do, Stiles allows himself to start unpacking from his sports bag. He doesn't get too far with it, though, before the satyr's back.

“Come, they are waiting for you,” he says, however, Stiles doesn't move an inch, just stays cowered down next to his packages.

“Uh, so,” he starts, scratching the side of his nose with his index finger, then opening his arm in a questioning manner later while the other is still resting on his bag. “Where'd you go when nature's calling? And where do you take a bath?” As far as Stiles can say, Boyd is chewing at the inner side of his mouth to prevent himself from laughing out loud. Stiles doesn't like the way he's being eyed, either. Actually, it pisses him. A lot.

“Well, we kinda went matter-of-course,” he responds after he managed to fight his urge to laugh. Stiles has to fight his share of war himself not to roll his eyes.

“Okay, cool, so it's like I'm the new popularity here?” he changes the subject as he stands up, stretching with his fingers knotted into each other and his hands flying upwards towards the roof. Boyd gives him the 'I-don't-believe-you' look.

“Rather like the newbie whom they can bug.” This is enough to kill Stiles' wide smile. He lets his arms to fall back down next to his side before following the other with a really unpleased face, which he's not even bothered to hide anymore. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and keeps looking around, trying to memorize the way so he can easily find his way back here. So far that is the only place he likes.

“You should encourage me, not frighten me, you know,” he says finally. He can hear Boyd snickering. All right then, this game is played by two, he thinks to himself with an annoyed look now. This satyr is hell irritating. Luckily after half a minute they arrive to the large campfire on which some of the others had been working when he arrived.

“You must be Stiles,” says a man. It catches Stiles' attention and turns to face the individual instinctively. “It appears you _are_ Stiles,” he continues. Most likely he was assured about Stiles' identity when he reacted to his name. His blue eyes basically burn a hole or two into Stiles – at least, that's how he feels about the intense cold gaze he's receiving.

“Yeah, it's me,” he says, a rather proud half smile spreading across his face. He knows his manners, so he instantly pulls his hands out from his pockets. “And you would be...”

“Peter,” he replies. “The leader of the camp,” he adds with a slight smugness in his voice in the 'just-for-your-information' way. Maybe it was even a hint for Stiles to choose his words and take a better control over his behavior.

“And why am I here?” Stiles asks, opening his arms as if to gesture towards his surroundings.

“Because you're one of us.” Peter only gets a confused and awaiting look. His eyes fly up to the sky in annoyance as his shoulders fall down and he exhales. He clears his throat and taps his fingertips together, seemingly calming himself and counting to ten in his mind. “You're a child of a Greek god, Stiles.” It chases a wide grin on Stiles' face.

“I've always known there was something up with me,” Stiles says with that smile still on, though the way everyone else is looking at him, it disappears from his face in an instant.

“However, we don't yet know whose child you are,” Peter continues. “so our most important priority will be to find it out first before you're allowed to take part in any of the trainings and games.”

“There are games?” It probably makes Peter annoyed again, though this time he's doing his best to hide this fact from his appearance.

“Your attention doesn't last too long, does it?”

'Nope, I have ADHD, actually,' Stiles would respond, but decides otherwise. He assumes he's already said enough. Also, it was a rhetorical question, so answering wouldn't even be appropriate. It appears that Peter appreciates the silence. Stiles is well aware that he didn't win Peter's heart and sympathy. The leader then nods and looks at Boyd.

“Well, let him show you around here, but only tomorrow, though. Now we're about to have dinner.”

And with that, he turns and disappears in the crowd that had formed a circle some time ago and which Stiles is practically standing in the middle of. It makes him anxious. He's never liked to be in the spotlight except for when he was starring at something. But this situation is completely different. He decides to back off until he accidentally bumps into someone. He turns and apologizes, but the guy doesn't seem to be bothered.

“No problem, really,” he says, giving Stiles a reassuring smile before sticking his hand out for him to shake. “I'm Scott by the way. Scott McCall,” he adds. Stiles accepts the hand without having to think about it.

“Stiles Stilinski.” The confused look Scott is giving him makes it clear that he was skeptical whether it was his real name or not. “It's better if I don't torture you with pronouncing my surname, believe me. Just call me Stiles,” he offers.

“Alright,” Scott agrees.

“So, who's your god?”

“Mine's a _goddess_ , actually,” he corrects. “And it's Hera.”

“Oh, the goddess of family and women, right? The sister and wife of the main god, Zeus.”

“Pretty much,” he nods. “So you have no clue who yours is?” Stiles shakes his head, helpless.

“I wonder who's mine, though. I'm sure it's someone awesome like Apollo, or Ares, or Poseidon, or...” he gulps. “Oh _my God_ , just assure me it's not Aphrodite.” Scott laughs.

“Have you been lucky with girls and relationships?”

“Nope,” Stiles says.

“Then it's not her.”

“Yeah, pretty much you're right,” Stiles agrees. “Then we're left with a total of three choices. Plus the ones I didn't count in. Hades is kinda cool, too, but I really can't see myself as his son.”

“Anyone whom you can bond with?” Scott urges.

“I'm not sure, really. Does it mean I don't know myself well enough? I've always thought I was good at analyzing myself. In fact, I don't even know why I'm getting so worked up over it. Maybe I took too much Adderall today.”

“Why'd you take Adderall?” a voice somewhere in the crowd asks. Both Scott and Stiles look in the direction of it in an instant. They wait until the third person arrives to the scene so they can see him – he has curly golden blond hair and big, sea blue eyes, settled on their duo. He actually does look like as if he was Greek, let alone a Greek god. “Isaac Lahey,” he continues, shaking hands with both of the boys. He then turns his attention back at Stiles, which he takes as his cue to give an answer.

“I need it to make sure my mind is able to keep running at full speed.”

And this is the time it chooses to start raining. It's merely delicately dripping yet, so it doesn't concern them. Stiles even enjoys it. He used to go out in a raincoat with an umbrella and a pair of wellingtons when he was four, with the clear purpose of jumping into puddles. His mother would tell him to get back inside due to the rain, but he responded with a “Why? These were made to supposedly protect my feet, there will be no problem, Mom.” Without him even noticing it, the corners of his lips curled up into a modest, nostalgic smile. He's always been a reasonable person.

“I think the dinner will be washed away,” says Scott out of the blue, hauling Stiles back from his daze and breaking the silence.

“Seems like it,” agrees Isaac, holding one of his hands out, those were folded over his chest. It doesn't take three seconds and a raindrop drips onto his skin, it followed by another one and another one.

“I'm not hungry, though,” states Scott.

“Yeah, me neither.” Stiles surprises himself with this statement, being he's the uncrowned king of eating, but after all that happened to him on this weird day, he really is unable to bring himself to force anything down on his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, noting in his mind it's damp only the slightest bit. “Wanna come to my place, though?” he asks, only to get two confused pair of eyes. “I have a deck.” The other two boys' faces light up at that.

They follow Stiles back to his cottage (with Isaac whining a sentence about claiming how lucky Stiles was to be able to live so near to the lake with such a beautiful view on it and the bluish-gray hills in the distance) and they all sit on the ground indoors. Stiles shoves the said deck out of his backpack and eventually, they end up playing poker.

~

Next morning Stiles is awoken by Boyd. It's not the best thing to see the satyr's stupidly grinning face first in the morning, Stiles notes in his mind. Especially after a really long night. Scott and Isaac left after two in the morning, while it had already been storming outside. Stiles was so tired, however, the storm outside couldn't prevent him from getting a tight slumber.

“Day one Greenie, rise and shine.”

Stiles doesn't like the name he was given, but he hauls himself off the ground and stretches before following Boyd out of the cottage. “First, according to Peter's commands, I'll show you around the camp,” he starts. “Then you'll be given the test so we can figure out whose child you are.”

“Is it the same with everyone?” Stiles asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Like... no one knows who their god is, or is it only me?”

There's a short pause which makes Stiles anxious.

“Actually, it's only you.” For some reason, it kicks Stiles in the guts. “Some essential steps were figured out, though, to make sure we're going to be able to figure out your godly parent's identity.”

“Who made them?”

“The children of Athene,” comes the respond. Of course it would be the children of the goddess of strategy and wisdom to compose such a test. “There are three steps of the test. The first one is...” Boyd trails off, then waves his hand. “Never mind. You'll know it in a little while anyway. Are you hungry?” Stiles wants to protest, to persuade the satyr to tell him about the test, but he's beaten to it by that question. Hell sure he's starving! He doesn't even need to answer – Boyd's already leading him towards the place of yesterday's huge campfire where three long tables are standing with benches on each of their sides with the same length as the tables. “This is the dining place,” the satyr informs. He doesn't need to get into further details; some of the campers are sitting along the tables, eating their breakfasts that was cooked by some girls. Some really beautiful girls. Stiles' sight lingers on them, until one of them approaches him with a smile on her face. The blond girl gently puts her hand on his back somewhere between his scapulas to lead him to the bench and have him sit down.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she says in a tender tone. As soon as she leaves, Stiles turns his head towards the satyr who's currently sitting down in front of him on the opposite side. Boyd shrugs.

“Whose daughter is she?” asks Stiles.

“No one's,” answers Boyd. Stiles' face changes into a puzzled expression. “She's a muse. Her name's Erica,” he explains.

“Got it,” says Stiles before starting to eat. He comes to the end of his meal within a matter of a few minutes. “So... do you guys have any idea why is _my_ parent's identity is unknown while everyone knows theirs?” Boyd smirks.

“Of course we have,” Stiles' face can't hide the fact that he was lit up by hearing that and each one of his nerves is now focused on the satyr. “It's easy. However, I'll give you the chance to first try to figure it out yourself.”

“How on earth should I know that?” he exclaims. Boyd shrugs. Stiles makes a face that is the mixture of sulky and annoyed at the same time, his arms crossing over his chest. He thinks for a few moments then speaks up.

“Nobody left behind a note about my legacy?”

“Wrong.”

“I got too confusing powers?”

“Incorrect. Go on thinking.”

“My godly parent decided it was better to leave...” The rest of the sentence sticks on his throat, causing it to come out as if he stated that. Thanks to this, Boyd reacts again.

“Everyone's did that.” He frowns. “Is everything all right?” he asks, noticing the changed expression on Stiles' face which this time looks a little tortured.

“Is it because my father passed away too early?” Boyd is looking at him for at least half a minute before giving an answer.

“Yes. You were too young to be told the truth, and since none of the gods are able to just come down here by their free will, even your godly parent couldn't tell it to you.”

“That makes sense” is the only thing Stiles is able to say to that, however, his voice is weak and it also lapses. His throat squeezed and a lump has formed there. Boyd senses the awkwardness in the air and starts to feel a little uneasy himself, so he decides to drive both of their attention away and on the things those have to be done today. He stands and motions for Stiles to follow him with a wave of his hand.

While they are on their way to show Stiles around on the huge territory of the camp, he braces himself to speak again.

“So now that I come to think of it, I have to have a goddess for a parent.” Boyd nods.

“Exactly.”

“Still, there are numerous choices I'm left with.”

“That's why we have the three-staged test. Remember that.” Stiles nods and they stop, arriving to their first destination. “This is the beginning,” says Boyd.

“Uh, yeah, Houston, I kinda figured. It's the arch,” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest with an unimpressed look on his face.

“This way it will be just easier,” shrugs Boyd before shooing Stiles forward to walk on the earth path, him catching up to walk on his side the next second. “There, that way,” the satyr says, pointing in the proper direction. “Where you can see the glade.” He waits until Stiles' eyes stick on that still place. “There we have the archery section.” As they keep walking on the main path, Stiles looks at the other confused.

“Aren't we going to watch them?”

“I thought this way your tour will be shorter and you'll know your parent's identity sooner, but if you're concerned...”

“Nope, it's okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, totally fine. Now can we just keep walking?” Boyd shakes his head with a smile on his face at the guy who's already ahead of him by at least seven steps. He knew he could influence Stiles by mentioning the test. After approximately three minutes of walking Boyd speaks up again.

“There are the dining tables with the campfire and the kitchen section.” Stiles nods, notifying the other that he got it. “As you can see, there are a lot of tents and houses among the trees,” the satyr continues. As soon as Stiles nods again, he goes on talking. “The other demigods live in those. You'll know which belongs to who once you've developed a friendship with them.” Stiles already knows how this works, but nods anyway. “There,” Boyd points somewhere ahead of them toward the trees on the left side. “we built a huge wooden house so our armors and weapons have a permanent place. Right next to it there's the smithy. Of course, Hephaestus' children are working there, but I believe it's needless to say it out loud.” They keep on walking, still straight ahead. Soon they arrive to another glade. It's smaller than the other one, and is on the edge of a cliff. Under that there's the sandy shore – and even Stiles' house is available from here. It's not in the sand, though, but in the grass and it's hidden by some trees.

They spend a while there before continuing their way. They walk back to the shadows of the trees and turn left, so compared to the arch, now they're on the right side of the camp. Soon Stiles notices something among the trees. As they come closer he realizes it's a house with a table and a chair in front of it. He looks at the other who nods assuringly. “That way.” They need to slide down on the side of the steep hill. Stiles almost trips and falls to roll on the rest of the way downwards, but he manages to keep his balance and not embarrass himself in front of the leader again, who came out of the house about three seconds ago. Behind Peter, a centaur is stepping closer to them on its hoofs.

“Welcome again, Stiles,” begins Peter.

“Pleasure's mine,” he responds instantly. His eyes travel to the table to notice there's a paper and a pen resting on it, seemingly waiting only for him.

“Yes, those are for you.” The voice is unknown, he hasn't heard it yet. He looks back to see the centaur approaching him. “I'm Alan Deaton,” he says and shakes hands with Stiles. “This is the first stage of your test. We need you to answer those questions, please.”

“That's it?” asks Stiles skeptically. “I need to fill in a test?”

“Just do it,” says Peter in a cold tone. Okay, he obviously is already about to lose his patience, Stiles thinks and immediately goes to sit down. He grabs the pen and begins to give his answers. The questions are about his ordinary life, mostly how he reacts in various situations, experiences with relationships and successes with his studies. When he's ready, he hands it to Deaton, who takes it into the house before coming out with another paper.

“Stage two,” he starts as he puts the next test in front of Stiles. “Read the situation carefully, if I can advise, at least three times, then try to come up with a solution to it which you think is the most essential and write it down.”

Stiles does as he was told; he does read it three times (plus once more just in reassurance) before starting to write down his answer. He gives a really detailed one, and even needs the other side of the paper to be able to put down everything. For the time being, Peter is watching him with his arms crossed over his chest and his back resting against a tree. Boyd is too busy with some nymphs, so he isn't paying attention at all.

The text is about a military case; the soldiers are stuck with a problem in connection with occupying the enemy's place. The task is to complete the invading mission thus coming out from there with the least possible amount of human sacrifices in case the mission wasn't successful – the latter, however, is only Stiles' decision to do, because it isn't mentioned in the text to think of an escape for them if they go under. So Stiles needs to work out two scenarios: one about the invading and one about the possible negative outcome of it. When he finished the last sentence and put the point at the end of it, he looks up finally. Seemingly Deaton was only waiting for his to happen, because in the next second he's next to Stiles and taking the fully written paper from him. He disappears in the house like before, and what surprises Stiles is that he's not coming out of it anymore. In fact, he expected to get another test, not Boyd approaching him and telling him to get up to complete his testing.

“Where are we going?” he asks, totally puzzled.

“To the smithy.”

“Why are we going there?” Stiles' voice is a little more panicked than he wants it to be and is higher by at least one pitch. He already knows why they are going there.

“The third and last stage is to fight. You're going to be given an opponent and we'll see the outcome and the way you militate.”

Stiles doesn't like the idea.

“Okay, well, look,” he starts. “I do have muscles, but I'm rather slender than muscled and strong and I doubt I was made to be a warrior or anything like that. In fact, have me do anything but fight with somebody. Also, I...”

“Do you even breathe?” Boyd butts in.

“What?” Stiles asks, confused. His mind is spinning with literally everything, and adrenaline is spreading around within his body already.

“Never mind,” the satyr says, closing up the conversation.

The rest of their trip to the smithy goes by in silence, they can only hear the other demigods practicing, training and talking to each other. Once at their destination, Boyd gives Stiles an armor and a sword along with a shield. He puts them on (with a little help) then they go to the biggest glade in the camp where everyone else is waiting who's interested in Stiles' previously announced fight. Deaton is there, too, he notices. The second the centaur notices him as well, his lips curl into a slight half smile and walks forward, into the middle of the glade so he gets the other's attention.

“Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who came here today to see this fight. For those who happen not to know, I would like to enlighten them that this is the third and last stage of demigod Stiles Stilinski's testing to let us figure out whose child he is. His opponent will not be easy to defeat. I believe most of you will know who he is once I call him by his name. When that happens, that means the fight is going to begin between the two of them. I would also like to share with you that this three-staged test was made by the children of Athene, process leaded by Peter. And now, let the fight begin. Aiden, your turn to act.”

Stiles is shooed to the middle of the glade by Boyd. He's faced by his opponent; a tall, well-built guy with a sword and a shield in his arms, too. He's not too far from him, maximum seven meters away. Suddenly Aiden drops his shield and Stiles swallows anxiously. This guy must be pretty confident in himself, he notes in his mind. Also, he lowered his body, meaning he's about to attack. Stiles puts one of his legs back to support himself, getting ready to the impact he'll be given by the other.

Then Aiden starts running towards him and he instinctively holds the shield up in front of him, not caring about the fact that his hands are shaking. After a few moments he's thrown backwards by the impact as Aiden collides his body against the metal. Stiles is hardly able to stay stood on his feet. He stumbles backwards and in the next second his left arm is twisted when Aiden grabs his shield and starts to drag it down from his forearm. Stiles shuts his mouth, clenching his jaw and teeth together to prevent himself from letting out that loud shout that just wants to escape from him so badly. He even helps Aiden to rid him from that heavy piece of metal so he won't be tortured anymore. His opponent throws the shield far away, as if it wasn't hard to move around in the air, it landing approximately fifteen meters away from them.

“Bloody Hell!” Stiles exclaims as he's not even let to get back from his shock, being he's already attacked by Aiden, this time by his sword. Metal clings to metal, and they are looking each other in the eyes. Aiden's face is... cruelly predatory. It truly frightens Stiles. He's thrown backwards again by Aiden pushing on his sword, then before he could even think, the neck of his shirt is already grabbed by the other guy. He practically lifts Stiles' body off of the ground and after turning around once with him in the air, Aiden throws Stiles away. He lands on the ground with a blunt thud. Thanks God he insisted on his sword so much he didn't let go of it by this surprise attack. He already has some injuries by the armor as it knocked and was pushed against his body when he arrived to the ground again, also, his hands and arms are wasted now, because he needed to deaden his landing in order to not let his head to be the part of him that gets injured. He turns around to lay on his back, to see Aiden running towards him with his sword held high in an attacker position, then makes a somersault backwards, hauling himself off the ground. He dodges Aiden's next attempt to slice him in two by jumping to the side and performing another somersault. He runs behind Aiden in attempt to injure him, too, however, what he isn't expecting is Aiden being perfectly able to respond to this situation before he could even move his sword to attack; he elbows Stiles in the face, causing him to twist his spine painfully, even coughing up an amount of blood. Stiles stumbles again and throws his arm up to use his sword as a shield against Aiden's. The guy's eyes are full of passion and his pupils are dilated, it assuring Stiles that Aiden is actually _enjoying_ this. He develops as many strength as he can, then pushes on his sword like the other guy did before. He only has seconds before Aiden is attacking him again, however, he lifts his arm up in the air. “I give up.”

And miraculously, Aiden stops as if he was turned into an unmoving statue, his face puzzled.

Parts of the audience let out a disappointed sound, showing how much they dislike the idea. Deaton is approaching them and Stiles explains.

“I'm not at all qualified enough to win this fight. Aiden is a flawless warrior, and I couldn't find a weak spot of him. I'm sure he must be an offspring of Ares. And I'm also sure the next stage would have been to pin me to the ground and hit my face constantly or something,” he shrugs, but it causes him to wince by the pain. Aiden is smirking. Sure he was right about that last part.

Deaton nods towards Stiles, ordering Boyd without words to take Stiles to the first aid tent. The satyr is next to him in the next second, letting him to wrap his arm around his neck, seeking for support. They leave the glade, however, two people from the audience follow them.

“Let us help you,” says Scott. Boyd looks at him, then nods and hands Stiles over. Scott and Isaac step on each side of Stiles, wrapping both of his arms around their necks and walking him towards the huge white tent that has a painted red cross on it.

“You forgot to show this place to me,” says Stiles after a while. Boyd shrugs.

“It's among the tents, and I showed them to you. It was more important to let you take the test.” Stiles sighs then moans slightly by the pain he feels around his lungs.

“This sucks. I'm badly devastated,” he croaks out.

“Not that bad. You stopped the fight just in time,” states Scott.

“Yeah, that guy was just about to turn the fight more violent. He likes to play around with his opponents, you know. He's like a predator who eyes his opponents as preys,” agrees Isaac. A cold shiver runs down Stiles' spine. This guy is pretty frightening. Could it be even worse?

“Also, he has a twin. They are both sons of Ares,” adds Scott. Needless to ask; it can always be worse.

They arrive to the medical tent. There are a few other children laying around, each one of them injured or simply recovering.

“This way,” says a girl, who noticed them entering the place. She leads them to an empty bed then turns back to face the boys. “Lay him down here.” She disappears and the boys do as she said, but take off his armor first. Stiles is already lying when the girl is back. “Take off his shirt, too,” she commands. Scott sits Stiles up and Isaac pulls his shirt over his head before Scott lays his body back down. “I'll wash your wounds out first, then disinfect them and even stitch them if needed,” she says, giving Stiles a chance to prepare himself to what is ahead of him. Since the girl isn't moving, he considers he needs to give a sign of agreement or something, so he nods. He must have been right, because the girl starts to do her job after that.

She finishes after half an hour, luckily without having to stitch anything. Stiles is happy that he was smart enough to end the battle before getting deeper into it and earning more serious wounds.

“Can I go home?” he asks as he sits up on the edge of the bed. She looks at him.

“Yes,” she responds after a few moments of considering the answer. “But you must make sure you rest.”

“Sure, sure, okay,” Stiles says, already getting dressed. “Thanks for the help.”

“You're welcome,” she smiles.

Stiles is fixing his shirt on himself when three other people enter the tent. He looks up to see the tiny group consist of Peter, Deaton and a girl he hasn't seen before. They walk straightly to him.

“We're here to tell you the result,” begins Deaton. “This is Susan, she's here in the name of the children of Athene who composed the test for you.” Stiles looks at her and greets her with a wave. She smiles back at him. “First, I'd like to explain why the test was made this way...”

“I know why,” Stiles interrupts. Everyone looks at him with a surprised expression. “I mean it's obvious. The first part was to ask for my personality and general behavior, the second was to test my strategy skills and the third to test if I was an offspring of a warrior god like Ares himself.” Deaton gives him an appreciative look, and Peter's cold smile is somewhat satisfied, too. Or maybe it's just Stiles' imagination.

“Indeed,” Susan says. “You got the highest points in those situations which needed mind activity. Also, you weren't half bad out there when you had to fight Aiden.”

“Are you kidding me? I _sucked_ ,” Stiles states.

“Not that much. In fact, according to the fact you have never been trained to fight yet, you did a pretty good performance.”

“Okay, so... my result?”

Deaton, Peter and Susan look at each other as if they were unsure who should be the one to share the truth with Stiles. The excitement and nervousness is almost touchable in the air that is somehow feels much heavier than before.

“Just say it, who's my parent?” he insists. Peter speaks up.

“It's Athene.”


	2. Division

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Stiles knows that he's the child of Athene, he can really start his life at the camp among the other demigods. He takes part in his very first game with all of the other children and due to a surprise, groups with five members need to be formed.

On the morning of his next day, Stiles opens his eyes halfway and turns lazily to lay on his stomach while yawning loudly. He buries his face into his pillow and continues sleeping soundly until he hears loud knocking on his door. He reluctantly nuzzles his face into the sheets to get rid of his trail of saliva before sitting up clumsily.

“Mmm goin' a'ready,” he manages to say. He scratches his head, messing up his bed-head even more. It practically looks like a nest. He only slept in a white T-shirt and white boxer briefs, but he's too lazy to put anything on right now. He opens the door to see Scott and Isaac standing there. “Whazzup?”

“Get dressed, you're joining our team,” Scott says. Stiles' mind would require at least five minutes to register what Scott has just said, but the two boys don't give it to him. They enter the house and toss Stiles back to his bedroom. They grab a pair of gray trousers and a blue henley for him and shove them in his hands.

“Stiles?” asks Isaac, seemingly to reassure if Stiles hasn't fallen asleep while standing. Scott gently pats his face to wake him a little.

“I think he's asleep,” he turns to Isaac, who can't help but chuckle at that with the brightest and widest smile.

“Am not,” Stiles says quietly, yawning again as his arms move at last. He drops the henley and puts on the trousers before taking off the T-shirt to change it for the henley.

“Let's go then, shall we?” asks Scott. Isaac is already at the front door, opening it.

“Wait a second,” Stiles stops and turns back to his bed. He reaches under his pillow to get his plastic drug container, pops its white cap off and shoves a pill into his mouth. “We can go now.”

“Tell me you haven't just drugged yourself,” says Isaac. Stiles looks at him with a blank face. His Adderall hasn't started to take effect just yet.

“He's sensitive,” Scott explains. “His father is Apollo.”

“Now it makes sense,” Stiles nods and follows Isaac out of the cottage, along with Scott. “So what's today's program? What team were you two talking about?”

“There's going to be a competition,” Scott starts the explanation. “We're the blue ones against the reds. The task is to earn the other team's flag that's hidden somewhere in the woods.”

“Sounds easy. We just need to search for that flag, don't we?”

“Well... there are armors, swords, shields and everything.” Stiles makes a startled face and stops suddenly. He looks down at the leaf-covered ground before speaking again.

“I'm not going.”

“Yes you are,” replies Scott immediately, grabbing the neck of Stiles' henley and dragging him along to make sure he won't sneak away.

They sit at the dining table to eat their shares of the breakfast. This time Erica sits next to Stiles, too. She really does look like a muse with her long, wavy hair and white dress that compliments her shape and which practically looks like the typical Greek ones you can see in the History books and films. She's also wearing a matching pair of sandals and a white headband that has a part which hangs down and rests on the crook of her neck, making it look as if it was a fabric knotted by Erica to be used as a headband.

“So you're the son of Athene?” she asks, smiling at Stiles.

“Yuf,” he responds while munching, his mouth full of food. He has never been one to eat properly.

“I heard about yesterday's battle between you and Aiden. Are you all right now?” Erica's voice sounds a little worried.

“Yes, don't worry,” he says, drinking all of his tea. “Damn, this meal is awesome.” Erica chuckles and thanks. “And how come you work here as a muse?”

“There's no god for cooking, and I like to do it,” she responds. “And I inspire everyone in my environment.” Stiles nods, showing her he got it. On the other hand, it's also obvious.

“So guys, how does this work?” asks Stiles after biting into his food again. Of course, he's requesting for more information in connection with the upcoming flag-stealing game. “Is it like... the children of Hermes are having advantage?”

“No,” replies Isaac. “It's not enough to be skilled in stealing things. You also need to be at least the tiniest bit good at fighting... or running away,” he adds the last part after a few moments of consideration.

“Then I know which option I'm gonna go with,” states Stiles. Scott glares at him.

“You're not running away. You're not that bad, and not everyone is as good as Aiden.”

“Oh yeah? And which team he's in? I'm sure not ours,” replies Stiles in a little more aggressive manner than he wants to.

“Well... no,” Scott gives it to him.

“And neither his twin is with us, isn't he?” Scott doesn't even want to answer, so he just shakes his head silently. Stiles nods, noting it in his mind and seemingly counting his choices. “So this means my chances to survive today's _game_ is nearly... zero. Pretty promising.”

“Don't be so cynic,” says Scott. “You have some chance.”

“Yeah, dude, I _might_ have if I'm lucky enough to be able to avoid the twins.”

“Don't be afraid,” says Erica out of the blue. Stiles turns his head towards her surprised. “You'll do great.” Her hand travels on Stiles' biceps and strokes it in a soothing manner. Stiles feels a little uneasy about that – he's not used to girls treating him like this. As he glances at the others he can see both Scott and Isaac trying to hide their smiles mostly behind the rim of their cups. Stiles makes an 'I-don't-believe-you-guys' face. Erica seems to be totally ignorant to this scenario, or she just truly doesn't care.

“We should go, don't you think?” Scott stands up suddenly, his question directed to Isaac, who instantly nods and stands up, too.

“Catch up later, 'kay?” the blond asks Stiles, grinning at him and even _winking_. Stiles makes another face.

“Bullshit. I'm going, too.” He's already standing before finishing the sentence. “Thanks for the food,” he says to Erica in a hurry before running off to chase down the guys who ran away from the scene merely to tease Stiles. He can even hear the two bastards laughing from ahead of him.

Eventually, they arrive to the biggest glade where Stiles' match was kept yesterday after they went to the smithy for their armors and weapons. Almost every member of the teams is there already, waiting for Peter and Deaton to arrive and announce the beginning of the game after repeating the rules, for the newbie in the first place.

“Shit, she's here!” squeaks Scott, turning around to face the boys instead of the girl.

“Who?” asks Stiles, instinctively looking over Scott's shoulder to roam his eyes over the crowd.

“She!” he replies and Stiles gives him an unimpressed face.

“Dude, you're not helping with repeating 'she' all the time,” he says, looking at the people again on the opposite side of the glade.

“Allison!” Stiles rolls his eyes before sliding his sight back at his friend.

“Tell me how she looks like, dude, I have no idea who she is.”

“Oh” is everything Scott is able to say to assure Stiles he got the common sense in what he's been saying. “Well, she's got gorgeous eyes, long wavy brown hair, she's middle-height and...”

“I think I can see her,” says Stiles, narrowing his eyes a little.

“She's awesome, isn't she?” Scott grins widely, his puppy-looking eyes focused on Stiles' face, seeking for any reaction he gives on Allison. His face kinda looks hopeful, too.

“Not bad,” Stiles agrees and Isaac elbows him playfully. Scott looks upwards, at nothing in particular, with a dreamy look and exhales loudly in the way everyone does when they are madly in love with someone. Stiles and Isaac look at each other for a few moments before laughing out loud. Scott is immediately drawn back from his daze and his facial expression changes into a frowning one.

“Hey,” he whines. “Stop laughing, she's amazing!” This only makes that two to laugh even harder.

“Dude, we're not laughing at her, but _you_!” Stiles manages to say between two gasps to prevent him from choking and literally die by laughing too hard and too much. He's already wrapped his arms over his belly and Isaac is propping himself against a tree. Scott doesn't seem to be enjoying the situation.

They only quit making a scene when the leader arrives with the centaur.

“Let us welcome everyone of the two teams here,” speaks up Deaton. “I'd like to tell the rules before the game begins. As you all know, the aim is to earn the other team's flag. You need to militate against each other, but try not to cause too serious damages or kill the others. You all know it's forbidden to try to kill another demigod.” He looks at Peter, who shrugs. “And now, put your helmets on,” he says, then waits until everyone has them on. “and now, _let the game begin_!”

The reds are eying the blue ones, seemingly waiting for a sign of how they will react or how they will move. Stiles has an idea so he calls everyone close to him.

“I need three more guys to come with me, the rest of you should try to make sure the reds can't follow us, so we can search for their flag.” The blues look at each other. Of course, Isaac and Scott are coming with him.

“I'll go,” says a voice. In the next second, Susan steps out of the crowd. Stiles smiles at her.

“I'll go, too,” a guy says. He looks at Stiles as if he was a worse person than him. In fact, he looks at everyone that way. “It's better than to fight here.”

“You sound as if you were too good to fight,” states Stiles before shrugging. “Come anyway.”

“Don't you dare command me!” the guy exclaims. Before Stiles could react anything to that someone shouts among the crowd.

“They're attacking!”

“Shit! Go, go, go!” exclaims Stiles before running off with the tiny group he managed to collect for himself. They keep running for about half a minute before cautiously running downwards on the hill. He stops once he arrived to the lower ground then turns to the newly known guy. “And who would you be?” The boy looks at him pityingly and he looks like he's measuring whether if he should answer to that question or not. In the end he decides to go with the first option.

“Jackson Whittemore,” he tilts his head slightly upwards in pure pride of himself, a half smile on his face. Stiles arches a brow skeptically. He really can't see what this guy sees in himself.

“He's just the son of Narcissus,” says Isaac in a blank tone, not impressed about Jackson either.

“No wonder why he's acting as if he was in love with himself,” agrees Stiles, roaming his eyes up and down on Jackson from his toes up to the top of his head.

“Hey, don't you dare to talk _at_ me and pretend I'm not here!”

“Okay, okay, whatever, just quit shouting or you'll attract the attention of the reds,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“He's right,” says Susan. “We need to figure something out to find the flag easily.”

“Oh you and your plans all the time,” Jackson rolls his eyes. Susan gives him a pissed look.

“You know, just go back and fight instead of holding us back, will you?” Jackson glares at her, but stays silent.

“So where do we go first?” asks Scott.

“I don't know. Maybe we should start the search at the lake...”

“No,” someone interrupts. They all look in the direction of the voice with puzzled and surprised expressions. The source of the voice steps out from behind a tree. It's a truly beautiful girl with perfect shapes which are complemented by the clothing she's wearing – it's similar to Erica's, but it's shorter, only reaching to the middle of her thighs and has the color of the soft sunbeams. She also has a golden ring on her left upper arm and a tiny golden chain on her right ankle and in her hair, it functioning as a headband. There's also a daffodil attached into it which highlights her face in a pleasant way. She's barefoot and tiptoeing towards them, her eyes fixed on Jackson. Her long, wavy strawberry blond hair is delicately following all of her movements.

“What'd you say?” asks Scott a little confused. She answers to his question without moving her sight off of Jackson.

“I know where their flag is,” she says, arriving to Jackson, now standing right in front of him. “Since he's with you, I'll help you out a little.” Jackson smirks and shoots a scornful look at Susan. She huffs annoyed and rolls her eyes.

“Thanks, Lydia,” says Jackson, looking back at the girl. Stiles doesn't even need to ask what Lydia is; he knows crystal clear that _nymphs_ were the ones following Narcissus everywhere because they were in love with him. “So, where shall we go?” Lydia keeps roaming her eyes over Jackson's face before speaking again.

“Follow me,” she says and turns around on her tiptoes elegantly, her movements not less as elegant and sophisticated as she is.

“I'm so not giving him he was helpful,” mumbles Susan in a pissed tone to Isaac before following them. Isaac chuckles silently, however, agreeing with her point of view.

They walk through the forest until they arrive to a river. For the time being, Lydia is talking to Jackson, Stiles is having a conversation with Scott (actually, contrary to the normal situation, _Stiles_ is the one being talked _at_ and is forced to listen to Scott's odes about how wonderful Allison is) and in the back Isaac and Susan are closing the group.

“Cross the river,” says Lydia, as if it was obvious, when everyone stops and looks at her questioningly. She jumps over the river gracefully with ease then waits for the rest of the team to roam through the knee-height cold water.

“It's freezing!” whines Stiles, his jaw clenched tightly by the unpleasant feeling. Lydia laughs, her voice sounding like hundreds of little bells. Stiles loves it.

“How far are we from the flag?” asks Isaac, shaking his legs one after another to get rid of some of the water.

“Not far away from here. Just go straightly ahead,” responds Lydia while she's walking back to be next to Jackson again.

Isaac looks back at Scott, Stiles and Susan – the three of them just shrug, and they all start walking in the direction Lydia told them to go. In no time they see something red waving tiredly among some bushes on a small glade. Nothing but the other team's flag can be so vivid in the woods. Scott immediately runs towards it only to be stopped by an arrow gliding away just a few inches in front of him. He gasps and stumbles backwards, even falls to sit on the ground startled. His eyes are still widely opened by the sudden negative surprise. Stiles runs to him without thinking twice and kneels down next to him, putting his sword and shield on the ground.

“Are you okay, dude? Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me,” he says, his voice a little shaky most likely by the result of adrenaline being present in his circulatory system.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaims. By the time he continues with “watch out!” Stiles has already lifted his shield up to protect them from the sword attack.

“Oh my God!” Stiles cries out as he hears the sharp metal weapon sliding down threateningly slowly on his shield. His whole body is shaking. He's really not used to this yet. He sees Susan from the corner of his eyes as she dashes out from among the trees, attempting to injure the one who's keeping them forced down on their knees. When Stiles can no longer feel the strong pressure against his shield he needs to fight with, he cautiously lets down the shield to see a half-naked guy militating with Susan, their swords clinging loudly against each other constantly and the sound sending cold shivers down Stiles' spine each time it happens. The guy is merely wearing a pair of black leather pants with sneaker boots. A red piece of fabric is tucked into his back pocket, signifying he's a member of the red team. He also has a shield on his left forearm, but apart from that, he's not wearing any armor to defend himself with. It gives Stiles a great opportunity to make himself useful already. He grips his sword and before Scott could stop him, he's already hauled himself off the ground, running towards the tall guy to help Susan.

What he isn't expecting, is to be attacked from the side, so he's forced to stop and use his sword to protect himself instead of supporting Susan. When he looks up he realizes it's Aiden. His fluffs of hair on his nape stand up in fright. He knows it's the end of the game for him – Aiden is a _predator_ of Ares and he hasn't finished playing around with him. No, not yet.

And what makes the situation even worse, is the fact that his twin shows up as well.

“Ethan,” he says. Stiles' mind only has a second to register what this means. Also, he realizes his nemesis has just arrived. “He's mine.” Ethan obediently backs off from Stiles and changes places with Aiden. He smirks at Stiles, it making him swallow heavily against the lump that has formed in his throat a while ago. “Hello, Stiles. Long time no see,” he starts, the grin on his face widening. Stiles really doesn't like it.

“Hey, man, you know, they said no serious damage can be caused, so...”

“I never cared about the rules.”

“O-okay,” Stiles says, trying to organize his thoughts. Isaac comes out to the glade, too, right at the time Allison shows up as well.

“She's mine, you go help Stiles,” says Scott, standing up. His eyes doesn't move an inch from Allison, who's smiling at him confidently.

“Did you guys really think we would let you get our flag so easily? Ethan recognized your little group escaped from the scene,” says the girl.

“You had to be really naive to think nobody was following you,” says Aiden, his words addressed to Stiles, who's even paler now than he usually is, clearly out of being scared to death. After stating that, he doesn't wait too long before attacking Stiles. He gawks before holding his shield up instinctively. He flinches when given the impact that forces him to take several steps backwards. However, he fights against it and doesn't let himself stumble, instead he gains a foothold and begins pushing back against Aiden's weight. He has a half second to glance at Jackson, who's still hidden among the trees and bushes. It appears this is everything they could expect from the offspring of Narcissus – helping them find their way with the help of a nymph that's fallen for him.

Isaac has to deal with Ethan, who's not half better to get than his twin, although Scott's situation is no better than any of them either, since he has to fight with the girl of his dreams. And not only her, but the inhibition to hurt a girl, _any girl_ , actually.

Eventually, the members of the red team end up as winners – but only what goes for the fight against the blue ones. Because while everyone was busy militating the other team's member, Jackson sneaked to the flag among the trees and earned it for himself and his team, ending the game with the victory of the blue team.

And of course, he not at all had any intentions on stopping the fight the second he got the flag in his hands. In fact, he took his time to watch the four fights in premier plan.

~

The only thing Stiles wants right now is to wash down the rest of the clotted blood from his body. Of course he'd taken his share of time to spend in the medical tent with that girl treating him again, but she only rid his skin from the blood at the places he had injuries at.

While he's taking off his clothes he thinks back to his conversation with Susan from around an hour ago:

*

_“Who was the guy you were fighting with?” Susan looked at him with a surprised face._

_“Oh, yeah, you don't know him yet,” she said, her mimics turning normal again due to her realization. “You know, everyone knows him in this camp. Not everyone knows his real name, though, because they just tend to call him Adonis.” Stiles presented her with a confused expression, it urging her to go on talking. “Anyway, Adonis' real name is Derek. And he's too good at fighting, as you could see it.”_

*

Stiles lets a sigh escape from his lips as he wraps a towel around his hips and leaves the house for the lake. He heads towards it on a hidden path, so no one will recognize him and he can near it without having to step on the sand. He unwraps the towel from around his body and hangs it on a branch of a tree before jumping into the water that reaches to his hips here.

“Oh my God this feels so good now. This is what I needed the whole day,” he relaxes on the spot he sat on. The surface of the water reaches right under his chin.

“Are you unable to shut yourself up?” a cold and unfriendly voice asks suddenly. It catches Stiles off-guard and makes him jump right up from his sitting, yelling along with it at the same time. “I appreciate silence,” the source of the voice says, this time being way closer than before. “so shut up or leave the lake.” And that's it, Stiles can now see who's talking to him. It's no one, but Derek, _Derek_ walking closer to him slowly in the water, obviously being gloriously naked and his perfectly sculpted bust available above the waving surface. He arches a brow at Stiles, awaiting for an answer.

“Dude, don't just judge me with your eyebrows,” says Stiles before slowly falling back under the water so only his face is available again. His response is nothing Derek was expecting, so his face is slightly surprised now. Stiles glances at him, then away quickly, before sighing. “Okay, sure, I'll be quiet.”

“Good,” Derek nods, then turns to walk away. Stiles speaks up again.

“You can stay here, you know. Don't be such an antisocial,” he says and Derek shoots a glare at him above his shoulder. Stiles stands his ground and does his best not to look away from the intense murder gaze he's receiving from Derek. Stiles swallows. “Or you can just go,” he shrugs, gesturing with his hands as well, showing Derek he doesn't really care.

The Adonis of the camp then turns his head back ahead and starts slowly walking away. It gives Stiles the opportunity to drop his eyes lower and get an eyeful of the triskelion tattoo on the guy's back before the V-shaped back disappears behind a bent tree's greenery.

Stiles' sight lingers there for a while, thinking how mysterious and unbearable this guy is, before changing to look at the night sky. Since no town is near here, there is no light pollution so each one of the stars is available – even the Milky Way. Stiles has always loved to gaze the stars and now nothing can prevent him from doing it. He recognizes a few constellations and remembers back at the time his father would sit with him on his lap and showing and naming the constellations for him.

Good old times.

He spends approximately half an hour in the lake, merely sitting there and doing nothing. He washes and rids himself from the clotted blood after he rested enough. He decides to swim for a little while before he goes back to his cottage.

~

The next morning he wakes up naturally, no one being there to disturb him in his sleep like the other days. He stretches lazily and smiles against his pillow, taking his precious time to enjoy the morning daze. He faintly registers that a trail of saliva is present on his chin, but he couldn't care less about that. Instead of getting up, he slides his arms under the huge pillow and hugs it close to himself, nuzzling his face into it.

He relaxes so much he eventually falls back asleep.

At around half past eight in the morning he hears knocking on his door. He wakes with a snort and looks at the door with half-lidded eyes.

“Who's that?” he mumbles, slowly managing to work himself into a sitting position. He scratches his head, messing up his nest-looking hair again even more, like he tends to do every time he wakes up, while keeping his eyes on the door that opens right that moment.

“Come, there's going to be a discussion soon,” starts Boyd, already grabbing Stiles' forearms and hauling him off of his bed. He wheezes in his inertia, his head even tilting backwards without him wanting that.

“Get dressed,” he hears Scott say.

“Quickly,” adds Isaac. Stiles is able to collect enough strength into his cervical muscles to manage a glance at the two boys.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“Just get dressed,” repeats Boyd.

When Stiles is fully clothed and ready to go he takes his daily Adderall pill before following the three out of his house to the biggest glade. It actually functions as one huge meeting room, he notes in his mind.

“What is going to be discussed here, guys?” he asks. He stays in the shadows, since his eyes are still too sensitive, being he's just woken up.

“We don't know. It's just everyone was told to come here.”

“Boyd?” Stiles turns to the satyr who seemed to know everything up until now. However, he just shrugs and shakes his head this time, showing Stiles he doesn't have a clue either. Stiles sighs and cowers down. He listens to Scott and Isaac's conversation for a handful of minutes before he stands up again. “Gimme a minute, dudes, I need to pee.”

“Thanks for sharing,” says Boyd, giving Stiles an unimpressed face.

“Don't go now, Peter and Deaton has just arrived,” states Scott.

“What? Are you kidding me?” he asks desperately. “I really need to go.”

“You have to stay.”

“No, you don't understand, it's bad and I can't...”

“Stay,” Scott interrupts. He even grabs the neck of Stiles' T-shirt to make sure he's not running off.

“Good morning, campers,” Deaton greets the crowd of demigods. Stiles' jaw is getting more and more clenched with each passing second. “We would like to tell you all that we figured something out for you. Despite it's starting tomorrow only, we want you all to divide yourself into groups today with five members in each.” He looks around. “Any questions?”

“What is awaiting us?” someone asks.

“That shall be tomorrow's surprise,” Deaton responds. “Anything else?”

“Can you finish it so I can go and relieve myself?” Stiles mumbles to himself. Scott chuckles silently, urging Stiles to make a face at him. “Thanks, dude.” Scott shrugs, but the smile is still on his face, causing Stiles to put on a sulky expression and cross his arms over his chest.

“Then you can go,” says the centaur. And this is what Stiles has been waiting for.

“Let me go, let me.” Scott finally lets go of him and Stiles runs away. It doesn't even take three seconds and his shape is no longer available among the trees anymore.

“So, what shall we do?” asks Isaac, moving his gaze from the trees to Scott.

“We have three members of our team, so we only need two more,” he says, looking around. “Hey, there's Allison!” His face lights up the second he recognizes her.

“Then go and ask her,” shrugs Isaac, already making his way towards the girl. Scott gawks before running after him. Allison notices them approaching before they could get too close. At first Scott thinks about turning around but then he notices she's smiling encouragingly. “Hey, Allison,” greets Isaac once he arrived.

“Hey guys,” she says for both of them, looking at Scott awaiting, since Isaac, the bastard, is doing the same. Scott exhales and looks down at the ground.

“Uh, well... you know,” he scratches his nape embarrassed. “We were just thinking that you _might_ want to be in our group, so...” he waits a few moments before looking back up at Allison, who's... _smiling_.

“Sure,” she says. Her answer chases a wide, stupidly happy grin on Scott's face. “And what about the others?” she asks.

“We only need one more person,” Isaac answers. Allison nods and looks around.

“How about him?” she asks, nodding in the direction of the guy she spotted. Both Scott and Isaac look there, their facial expressions changing into skeptical.

“There's no way he's joining us,” states Isaac.

“We can never know until we ask,” shrugs Allison and walks towards the guy. The other two boys are following behind. “Hey, Derek,” she smiles at him, only greeting him after he turned down another group's offer to join them.

“No,” he says before she could even open her mouth in order to say anything else.

“Hey, how do you know we want you to join us?” asks Scott.

“Everyone is talking to the others in order to make their groups,” Derek shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows at them, as if to say 'aren't you going yet?'.

“Hey, there you are,” Stiles yells to them from afar, running towards them already. When he approached them he speaks up again. “I thought you'd at least wait for me.”

“You took too long,” Isaac says. Stiles makes an unimpressed face at him.

“He- you-,” he stutters at first. “I washed my hands,” Stiles explains. “Do you have an idea how long it takes to run to the lake from here? I'm sorry I'm not as fast as light.”

“Okay, don't get so worked up,” interrupts Allison before turning back to Derek. “Please just think of it again.”

“Think of what?” Stiles butts in. Derek rolls his eyes annoyed.

“To join our team,” Scott gives an answer. It shocks Stiles and he looks at Derek with disbelief.

“Are you actually asking _him_ to join the team? Dude, he freaks me out,” he claims.

“Yeah, but he's a good warrior.” Scott keeps defending Allison's choice.

“But-” Stiles trails off and after half a minute of consideration he ends up shrugging. “Okay, good point there. Get him in.”

“I'm not joining you,” Derek repeats, his voice is dangerously low.

“You sound like a wolf snarling, man,” Stiles states. “Just quit being a _sourwolf_ and give in and join us,” he gives Derek the typical Stiles-styled half smile, opening his arms widely awhile. Derek keeps looking at him with a blank face. “Okay, dude, just look around,” he keeps talking. When Derek is just staring at him, he parrots. “Just do it, look around.” Derek realizes he has no choice but to look around at his surroundings. “Now tell me: which is better, to be stuck in a team with those people or with us?” For a second everyone thinks Derek will respond with an 'I'd rather be with the others than you', but eventually he ends up shrugging in a way that makes it clear they won him over for themselves. “Good boy.”

“Say that again and I'm ripping your head off,” Derek snarls for real this time.

“Okay, okay, just calm down big guy.”

“You sure as Hell talk a lot,” he says with the best pained face he could muster.

“Oh, look at that! Derek actually has facial expressions,” Stiles says. He has to admit, he kinda enjoys bugging the other.

“If you keep annoying me I'll just go and join another team,” Derek threatens.

“You wouldn't.” Derek only arches both of his eyebrows, judging Stiles with them _again_. They keep looking at each other's eyes before Stiles throws his hands up in a surrendering manner. “I'm shutting myself up.”

Derek nods and walks away, leaving the four of them there.

~

Stiles is really exhausted as he approaches his bed that night. He really needs to have a tight slumber so he will be able to deal with Derek the next day.

Except for the fact Derek can not be handled.

And for the fact he can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who commented so far.
> 
> It really helped to keep going with this chapter, you really can't believe how much it means to read your thoughts about it. Please keep notifying about your thoughts and my flaws and everything that comes to your mind. I'll appreciate it.
> 
> Chapter 3 is in progress. :)


	3. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their group is training for the upcoming surprise. For the time being, Stiles is suffering from insomnia.

“Dude, I can't do it any better than this!” Stiles exclaims, his voice desperate and apologetic. He's propping himself on his knees while panting hard, tilting his head backwards just enough to be able to peek up at Isaac.

“What do you mean by that? Just do it again,” Allison commands.

They are on the shore, exposed to the cruel Sun to burn them relentlessly as much as it wants to. Stiles' pale skin is seriously about to get sunburnt. His T-shirt is sticking to his body by now by sweating so much partly because of the muggy weather and partly because of the training he's receiving.

As he hears Allison's command, he inhales a deep breath into the deepest depths of his lungs and stands up tall again, clenching his right hand into a fist while holding the other in front of himself with straight fingers as if he was one of those who can break a brick in two with their bare hands. He keeps his eyes firmly on Isaac and gains a foothold, turning his tiptoes on the ground of his hind foot. They can only hear some random birds chirping and some bugs' sound in the heat; apart from these they are in complete silence.

After a few more seconds of waiting, Isaac starts running towards him again, already lifting his arm up behind himself with his fist clenched to hit Stiles with it. After Stiles dodges it, he backs off a little, holding his arms in front of himself in a defensive position. He gives Isaac a half smile.

“You always do that, it's easy to get away from that now,” he says and Isaac turns to look at him. He smiles mischievously before grabbing the lower end of Stiles' knee-length pants and shoving it towards himself, this way causing Stiles to fall back on his back. Isaac immediately jumps to kneel above him and Stiles can't help but laugh out loud, mostly at how badly he sucks at fighting. “I told you I wasn't any good at this.”

“If you can't defeat me, you sure as hell won't be able to defeat Scott, either,” says Isaac with a smile before standing up and holding out a hand for Stiles to haul him off the ground. Once both of them are standing, Stiles speaks up again.

“See, he agrees, too,” he tells Allison, pointing his index finger at the blond who's standing next to him. Allison can't prevent herself from letting a smile spread on her face, but she rolls her eyes at Stiles anyway.

“You could be good,” she claims.

“Yeah, if I was made for fighting,” Stiles agrees. “Now can we take a break? I'm literally dying now.” Allison sighs, measuring what would be the best to do. Eventually, she ends up giving in to Stiles.

“All right, we can take a little break. Basis on the word _little_ ,” she puts an extra stress there, however, Stiles is nowhere to hear that by now. He takes off his T-shirt and quickly runs to the lake to wash his face and in general, his whole body to get rid of the damp sweat. Isaac joins him.

“Wow guys, I thought you were practicing, not taking a bath,” Scott teases in the second he arrives. Allison chuckles.

“We've just started the break. They'd been working hard up until now,” she states before her eyes travel to Derek, who's just arrived with Scott. He decides to make himself comfortable in the shadow of an older tree, his eyes focused on the sky.

“And how's been their training?” asks Scott as he hops down next to Allison.

“Well,” she licks her lips, thinking of how to put it. “Stiles can't seem to defeat Isaac. Though he's learned how to dodge his first one or two moves.”

“And your training?”

“You mean the archery training?” Scott nods. “It's okay. I'll take care of Stiles and Isaac's training first, then I'll go and practice some on my own.”

“Don't you need a coach?” She chuckles.

“Nope, but there is someone to keep an eye on us anyway.”

“Hey, when did you two come back?” Stiles' voice can be heard. Everyone looks at him. “And where have you been, anyway? I call discrimination,” he gestures with his hands.

“It's not discrimination, we're just better than you,” states Derek. His voice can't hide the fact he's pissed at Stiles. “Speaking of which, you'd better go back to training.”

“Okay, big guy, you know what,” Stiles starts, turning towards Derek so now his whole body is facing the other. Derek rolls his eyes dramatically before setting his gaze on the guy. “I know everyone calls you either Derek or _Adonis_ , but I figured the best name you could get is Sourwolf so from now on that's how I'm gonna call you.” Derek shrugs.

“Fine,” he says, shocking Stiles by this, but then he continues. “I'll just ignore you, then.”

“Wha- y- you kno-,” Stiles would start to fight back, but Isaac speaks up.

“You two argue like a married couple,” he states. Both Derek and Stiles look at him in an instant – latter with a flat, the other with a murdering sight.

“Dude, seriously?” Stiles asks. Before he could continue to begin an argument any bigger than this, Allison interrupts.

“Okay, guys, it was enough resting. I can see you've got your energy back, so let's get back to training, shall we?” Both Isaac and Stiles whine at that, but the girl just motions them to set up another militating scene.

For the first time, it ends the same way it usually did; Stiles is defeated by Isaac after two moves – but for the second time, Stiles does better, because he's able to fight until Isaac could attempt a fifth move against him.

“Don't lose your focus, Stiles,” Allison keeps telling.

“I have ADHD,” Stiles admits once he heard that sentence enough times. “That's the other reason why I need Adderall.”

“It's as if you didn't take it,” Scott claims. “Usually your attention is better.”

Truth is, three days have passed since the division and Stiles hasn't got a satisfying sleep since then. He's been suffering from insomnia for the past three days, that's why he decided not to take today's Adderall pill so maybe he could have a tight slumber tonight.

His only reaction to Scott's statement is a simple shrug. He wipes his forehead before telling Isaac to take another attempt.

“We need to practice for the running marathon and hammer throwing, too,” Allison reminds them.

“I'm not one for hammer throwing,” Stiles says.

“Honestly, what are you for?” Derek asks, his voice low with anger. Stiles makes a face at him, but miraculously he doesn't respond.

“Not everyone has to take part in a sport. But every group has to have at least one member for each sport,” Isaac reminds them.

The surprise which Peter and Deaton needed the groups for is an Olympic Match for the campers. Obviously, the most successful team will get medals for their work.

“Yeah, and everyone has to play at least once,” adds Allison.

“We all know that,” says Stiles. “So if I'm not going to have to fight, then why the _Hell_ are you torturing me with this training especially at such a hot weather? My skin is literally melting.”

Before anyone could respond to that, some screams glide across the air. Scott looks at Stiles.

“ _This_ is why.”

After that, without waiting for a response, he runs off. Derek follows him, moreover, dashes passed him to sprint towards the smithy. Allison leaves the shore, too, then Isaac and Stiles catch up to them once they are over their shock. Stiles runs passed them as well, leaving everyone behind and arriving to the smithy as the second one. By the time he arrives, Derek already has a sword and a shield on him. Stiles only grabs a sword, thinking he'll be better off without a shield – that only makes him slower and if he's fast enough, he won't even be in need for that heavy piece of metal. Being he doesn't have a clue where to go, he follows Derek. They run to the major campfire to find everything burnt down. After about half a minute Stiles can hear the rest of their team catch up to them.

“What happened here?” asks Scott startled.

Some of the children of Asclepius who work in the first aid tent are already there, taking care of the injured ones. Stiles recognizes the girl who took care of him and jogs towards her to kneel down beside her.

“Who did this?” She looks at him with teary eyes before shaking her head.

“I don't know,” she sniffs, then wipes her eyes. “I wasn't here when it occurred.”

“I thought we were safe in the camp.”

“Well, I thought the same,” she says. Her voice has some kinda sharpness in it and appears to be a tiny bit cynic. Stiles slides a hand on her back and strokes it soothingly. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” he smiles.

“Anyway, I treated you twice already, however, I never got your name...”

“Oh,” Stiles says, both of his eyebrows arched. He scratches his nape. “Stiles.”

“Malia,” she responds, this time having a smile on her face, too. “Do you mind helping me to take them to the tent?” Stiles shakes his head.

“No,” he puts the sword down to grab the injured individual's feet. Malia goes for the bust to hold, but noises of a fresh fight catch their ears. Stiles looks Malia in the eyes before mumbling “sorry” and running off in the direction the others have just left. Voices shouting “protect her!” and noises of electricity can be heard. He arrives to a newly created, messy glade – the trees those were standing there were bulldozed off and now only their remains are in the ground. Above the remnants a smaller group is already militating. Two things come clear immediately: one, the protected one is a Japanese girl and two, she's the one who caused all the sounds of electricity in order to defend herself. The opponents are girls, every single one of them. Stiles doesn't know how he can still remember, but he recalls he read something about well-skilled fighter women in Greek mythology – they are called the Amazons. “Shit.” He's well aware he has no chance to fight any of them. Maybe he'd better leave the scene before--

The thought can't even cross his mind completely when he's spotted. The amazon shoots an arrow at him, and he's hardly able to dodge it by performing a somersault to his left. He starts to regret the lack of a shield. Three amazons start to run towards him, getting closer and closer to him dangerously fast. He starts backing off slowly, his face full of fright, but then another arrow slices the air only to end up in the middle of one of the amazons' chest. Stiles falls backwards, causing him to sit down in the dust, being ignorant to the fact that most of it dirtied his sweaty body. Although, his mind is capable of registering that Allison, the huntress of Artemis, has arrived.

For some reason it calms him a little, and the feeling is only increased when Stiles can see in the corner of his eye that Scott cowers down next to him while holding up a shield in front of them.

“Are you okay?” he asks Stiles in an awe. Apparently, Stiles would respond if he could hear the other through the beating blood in his ears. Stiles' mouth is hung open halfway, and it's crystal clear he's still scared to death. In the next second his breathing sticks on his throat and he starts choking. It soon switches into hyperventilating and Scott is obviously confused and panicked because he has no clue what is going on. “Stiles?” he asks, dropping the shield in favor of grabbing Stiles' shoulders and shaking him. “Stiles?!” he exclaims, his voice higher by at least five pitches.

“What happened?” Allison runs back to them, her eyes always on Stiles, who's still choking for breath and air.

“I-I don't know. I have no idea. He just- he just suddenly...”

“Pa-,” Stiles attempts to tell them what is going on with him, however, he's unable to do so. He feels like no air is able to approach his lungs, so talking is not his most important priority right now. Even though he's well aware he's not going to drown and he's breathing, he doesn't feel like it. Rather he feels like these are his last minutes. His lungs start to hurt and his heart rate is beginning to get too high. He faintly registers that Allison aims at more amazons and shoots arrows towards them to protect Scott and him.

“Where's Isaac?” asks Allison.

“He should be here soon,” Scott replies. “He went to collect the twins and Susan.”

“Derek and the others won't be able to handle them for too long,” states the girl. “Also, we have to look after Kira. They are here to take her away.”

“Why would they want to take her?” frowns Scott. Allison kicks an amazon in the guts and slices her stomach by using her sword that's on her back along with her arrows. She pants for a short while to calm herself before replying to Scott's question.

“You know that the three main gods very rarely have children, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Let alone Zeus – he has a child here on the Earth once in a blue moon,” she continues the explanation, but she's interrupted again. She deals with her opponents with a little help; Isaac arrives with the other three and they help Allison with her issue. “Kira is Zeus' daughter.”

“Still, why would they want to take her?”

“To evacuate her for her strong powers,” Allison suspects. “Maybe.”

“What's with Stiles?” Isaac exclaims. Before anyone could respond, Derek arrives to the scene, too, his body covered by several injuries, some of them serious and some of them are merely scratches. He has a few grazes and bruises as well and a lot, lot of blood coating his tanned skin. Isaac looks up at him. “You have an idea?” Derek can only eye Stiles' desperately choking body and the way he's grasping his throat and chest, seemingly hardly breathing.

“Stiles?” Allison cries out. Stiles' eyes suddenly switch to her instead of looking into infinity. His shaking, parted lips start to move painfully slowly, struggling to form the words appropriately.

“Pa- pan-,” Stiles can only pant those out and is forced to cut off talking again. Thanks God the twins are there so they can pay attention to their teammate.

“What?” Isaac asks, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Panic attack.” It comes out of Derek's mouth as more than a question, it rather sounding as a statement. Stiles looks at him, his lips twitching in an attempt to smile. “I'm taking him to the medical tent.”

“But you need to be treated, too,” Allison says.

“That's why I'm taking him,” responds Derek. Before anyone could protest against his idea, he picks Stiles' body up from the ground and Scott's embrace, totally not giving a shit about the dirt, and starts walking towards the forest where the trees are still standing. 

“Everything will be all right,” Derek tells Stiles in a soothing tone, his voice low in the most pleasant way. Similar to the times when the sky is merely grumbling before it would start storming. For some reason Stiles finds it relaxing. He's not choking that badly anymore, and his heart rate has started to reduce, too; it changed from running at a 144 beatings/minute speed to 96 beatings/minute. After five more minutes, apart from a bit of extra amount of adrenaline, Stiles' homeostasis is completely back to normal. He grabs a handful of Derek's bloody and dusty shirt, pulls on it gently and looks up at Derek, who requites the look. Stiles smiles at him weakly.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No problem.”

“You're not that much of a _sour_ wolf, you know. Maybe I was wrong.” Derek huffs and rolls his eyes. Before he could react in any way to Stiles' comment of the nickname he gave him, he speaks up again. “How did you know what to do, though?”

“I'm not answering that,” despite his voice is determined, Stiles doesn't give up.

“Oh, come on, buddy, tell me,” he insists. Derek sighs long and loudly.

“My little sister used to have panic attacks.”

Before Stiles' brain could fully register the information and make him ask something else, Derek adds. “And that's it. I'm not intend to talk about this topic.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but eventually, they arrive to the first aid tent. The second they step in, Malia looks up and Stiles closes his eyes.

“What happened to him?” she runs in front of Derek.

“He's okay now,” Derek avoids giving a clear answer. Stiles doesn't care about anything, he decides it's better for him to enjoy each moment of Derek's not really often-seen soft side. So according to this, he acts as if he was asleep and just makes himself comfortable in Derek's arms, nuzzling his cheek into his flexed biceps. He knows exactly he's behaving like a five-year-old child, but he also knows he couldn't care less about that right now.

For him, it means a lot if someone is able to soothe him while having a panic attack.

By the time Derek arrives to a bed with Stiles in his arms, Stiles' acting skills turn into reality; he actually fell asleep.

After Derek carefully laid him on a bed Malia pointed at, she begins to take care of Derek. She starts with cleaning his whole body, then disinfects all of his wounds, stitches when needed and finishes the whole procedure with wrapping Derek up in bandages.

Malia then leaves and Derek looks around in the tent – most of the beds are taken due to the fight that's most likely still going on out there somewhere, upper on the hill. The first aid tent is located in a sort-of valley and it's well-hidden among the trees. After about a minute Malia is back and heads straightly towards Stiles, who's still lying unconsciously on the bed next to Derek's. The Adonis of the camp is sitting on the edge of his bed that's facing Stiles, his fingers curled around the edge to support himself somewhere. As the girl starts to delicately wipe down Stiles' body with a wet cloth, Derek speaks up.

“I've never got the sense in you working here,” he says, his voice is quiet and emotionless. He's pretty sure his face is blank as well. Malia doesn't look at him, just goes on cleaning Stiles, her eyes fixed on him.

“You mean that Aphrodite breed me?” her voice got a sharp edge in it. Derek doesn't care.

“Yes. Apart from you all of the ones working here are offsprings of Asclepius, you know.”

“I just like to do it. I don't just want to spend all my time with the other daughters of Aphrodite to pamper the guys who seek our company.”

Derek wants to comment something on that, but he ends up staying silent and just waits until Malia finishes wiping Stiles' body.

~

When Stiles opens his eyes, he finds himself laying in his bed, his blanket neatly wrapped around him. He notices someone even tucked the fabric close and slightly under his body so no cold is allowed in.

“I knew you were a nice guy under the surface,” he mumbles to himself with a smile, vaguely remembering Derek lying him down, then turns to attempt to fall asleep again.

However, when he's still widely awake after an hour, he decides to give up on sleeping and kicks his blanket off of himself. He changes his knee-length pants to his tracksuit, and after putting on his pair of running shoes, too, he leaves his cottage.

He's always loved running; it helped him to clear his head from the unnecessary thoughts and kill his extra amount of energy that had piled up within his body. Now he's using it for the same reasons plus for that extra advantage that he's always wanted to happen – being able to run at night. He was never let to do that, being said the town at night wasn't safe the slightest bit. But now he's not in the town.

He's been running for a good forty minutes at least when he approaches the edge of the woods that leads to the cliff. He glances there to notice someone sitting there. He slows down his steps, considering if he should go to talk to them or leave the other alone with their solitary. Just when he's about to direct his way down on the hill, he individual turns and asks. “Who's there?” It urges Stiles to stop right at that second. He turns back, his face full of disbelief. It takes him at least a quarter minute to brace himself to walk out from among the trees and expose himself to the other person.

“It's just me. In the woods. Alone,” he says, not taking any steps closer.

“Stiles?”

“No, it's Santa Claus,” he rolls his eyes. “Of course it's me, dude.”

“Don't call me 'dude' again,” he threatens.

“Okay, I won't... _Sourwolf_.” A growl is all the reaction Stiles gets to that comment.

“Are you seriously testing how long my patience lasts?” Instead of giving a proper answer, Stiles decides to stay with shrugging. He starts nearing Derek.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.”

“I thought we could jump over the part where you're claiming you're not doing anything apart from just sitting around here,” he says in a slightly impudent way, finally arriving next to Derek. He looks at him, as if he was waiting for an invitation to sit down, but then he just decides to do it anyway. He hops down next to Derek. “What happened after I fell asleep?”

“The amazons were either killed or chased away. Kira is still in the camp, safe and sound. However, now she's under Ethan and Aiden's protection.”

“Cool,” Stiles says. And this is the end of their conversation, he has to realize. Derek is really not the talkative type of person. He talks until he gets his point across, but not any longer. It's like he doesn't want to waste his words. Or he's just a 'to the point'-type.

After a long pause, Stiles speaks up again, though, attempting to start another conversation. “Thanks for today.”

“You already said that.”

“Can't I say it again?”

“If not necessary, _don't_ keep reminding me of how grateful you are.”

“Oh, so you're the silent secret hero type? Awesome, because I have to say that I'm the type of person who likes to express his gratefulness as many times as he want. Sorry if that hurts your little secret-hero soul, Batman.”

Stiles sighs and looks up at the sky. He takes the upcoming silence as his cue to shut up as well. They sit there for approximately ten minutes in complete silence when Derek's voice fills in the vacancy. “I don't know what it feels like to have a panic attack. I've never had one myself,” he admits. After Stiles is over the shock of the drastic changing of topic, he responds.

“Good for you.” For some instinctive reason, Stiles risks a glance at Derek, who's looking at him with the tiniest bit curious face. Stiles looks away, aiming his eyes back at the constellations. “It makes you feel like you're at the verge of dying. You feel like you can't breathe and this feeling of utter fear from death fills your head. Basically you can't think of anything else, but how much you don't want to die while you practically feel like you're dying.”

Another long pause sets in between the two of them. Just like the one before, this is broken by Derek, too. “Now I get it why you said fight wasn't for you.”

“Yeah, but...” Stiles trails off. “It's not just that, you know?” Stiles asks. He knots his fingers into each other and shakes them modestly, gazing up at the starry sky.

“What else?” Derek urges.

“I didn't want anyone to know I have ADHD.”

Derek doesn't say anything to that at first, just stares at the dark lake that's reflecting every lighting part of the night sky. After an amount of time that nearly seems to be forever, he parts his lips. “At least we know you'll be the perfect one for the runnings.” Stiles looks at him with a puzzled expression before laughing out loud.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He can't believe Derek can find the perfect words to make him feel better. Even if they would mean nothing to others, they mean a lot to him; this little comment made it clear for him that Derek actually sees his strong points and advantages. Still, it feels so awkward for him when he thinks back to their first chance to talk at the lake. Stiles hated this guy for his high-minded attitude and thought his whole personality was dedicated to that characteristic. However, today he had to realize how big mistake he made by letting himself believe that was all Derek contained.

“Still, you suck at fighting and you need to be trained harder.”

“Excuse me?” he blinks. That sentence hauled him back from his daze and made him feel as if a huge amount of ice cold water was poured at him.

“If the others weren't there you'd be dead by now. You have to be able to defend yourself, otherwise you'll just be a pain in the ass,” Derek states relentlessly. Stiles' mouth hangs open and his eyebrows jump high in massive surprise.

“What- you did not just-,” he stutters, following Derek's movements with his head and his index finger pointed at him as he stands up and looks down at Stiles.

“Prepare for tomorrow. You're gonna have a hard day. I'll guarantee that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there peeps!
> 
> I struggled a little to write this chapter, and maybe I added too much Sterek but I hope you'll like it anyway.
> 
> Maybe I messed up the ending a bit. I'm so so so sorry if it sucks. ;-;


	4. Trainer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles start the trainings, while a few other things happen around them in the camp.

“Stiles, wake up.”

Stiles mumbles something under his breath into his pillow before nuzzling his face into it. He feels someone grabbing a tight hold on his shoulder and shaking his body. Stiles raises one of his hands lazily to wave it, motioning for the other to leave him alone and go away. However, it only causes them to rage on, because the next shake is much harsher, it urging Stiles to wheeze in serious discomfort.

“Stiles, wake up or I swear to all gods you'll be dead by the end of the day.” This makes Stiles open his eyes halfway, but only to make sure he stays on the bed as he shifts, thus getting rid of the hand on his shoulder. “Fine. Be that way.”

Footsteps echo over the cottage, then the sound of a door closing can be heard. A wide, satisfied smile spreads across Stiles' face, noting his victory against he other. That is, until they are back and force Stiles to jump right out of his bed with a scream – by pouring ice cold water at him from a bucket.

“What on earth is your problem!” he exclaims and directs his pissed sight at the intruder. He realizes it's Derek and suddenly he remembers everything that was said between the two of them yesterday. He decides not to care about it, though, and just keeps the annoyed look on his face.

“I told you to prepare for today. It's the fifth time I came to your house this morning.” That surprises Stiles. He vaguely remembers one apart from the last two, including this, but _five_?

“I don't believe you,” he says simply. Derek's eyebrow twitches, his flat look turning slightly murderer-like.

“You're a horrible person.”

“I know, it keeps me awake at night.”

“It would seem,” Derek agrees, eying Stiles' soaked body, meaning Stiles wasn't able to get up obviously because of lack of sleep. “Dry yourself and get dressed. We have no time to waste according to your well-known skills to fight.”

“Sarcasm. Nice,” Stiles smiles awkwardly before standing up. At first he's drawn back into his bed by his clothes those are heavier than he expected them to be by the water. When he manages to stand up, he walks to his wardrobe to get a towel. For the time being, Derek crosses his arms over his chest and leans against a wall with his shoulder. “You could leave at least until I prepare myself.”

“ _No way_ ,” Derek responds. “I'm afraid you'll be asleep by the time I return.”

“You honestly think I'd risk falling asleep again after _that_ way of waking me up?” Stiles makes a face at him, then takes off his T-shirt. “Damn, dude, it's dripping.” He takes it to the balcony so he can wring it with the water getting on the grass and not the floor of his cottage. He leaves the clothing apparel there so it will dry by the sunbeams. Back in his room, he starts drying himself off then looks at Derek. “Can you at least turn around while I finish this up?” Apparently, Derek gets the hint because he exhales and switches to his other shoulder to prop himself against the wall with. Stiles quickly takes off his boxer briefs and after drying his full body, he pulls on another one along with a pair of pants and a T-shirt. His hair is sticking in every direction, being it's still wet and he just rubbed it with the towel to prevent it from dripping all the time. “Ready.”

“At last.”

“Hey, I didn't take that long!”

“Yes you did. A bride gets ready faster than you,” Derek states, opening the door for Stiles, allowing him to go outdoors first. He sulks with his arms folded over his chest, but walks out anyway. He doesn't want to get another surprise from Derek for disobeying him.

“Says the one who made it last this long,” mumbles Stiles, meaning he wouldn't have taken so long if Derek didn't decide to pour water on him.

They head to the shore where the others are already training, except for Allison, who's spending her time at the archery section. Scott and Isaac are practically wrestling with each other, not fighting anymore. The two of them are on the sand, in the middle of a circle they drew to know which of them wins. Derek doesn't pay attention to them, only motions for Stiles to follow him. They stop on the dewy grass, both of them being barefoot. After a quick warming up, Derek commands Stiles to attack him.

Stiles is really clumsy. He has no idea how to attack anyone properly, he loses his balance the moment Derek makes a move, his focus is worse than ever and he just sucks at it. Badly. Before he'd make his twelfth attempt to harm Derek, he puts his hand up to stop him.

“One word, Stiles: concentrate. Don't lose your focus.”

“You know exactly why I lose my focus.”

“Just try to stay focused.”

“How am I supposed to stay focused to attack you while I also need to defend myself?”

“That's what I'm teaching you right now. Come on,” Derek urges and beckons Stiles to attack him again. He takes a deep breath to organize strength before going at Derek. Stiles attempts to punch him in the face (or chest, ribs, shoulders, muscles, anything, really), but fails miserably at it. After dodging his fist, Derek grabs his nape and with a gentle movement, he doesn't even need to do it too strongly, shoves Stiles against the grass. “Get up and do it again.” Stiles raises his head with an annoyed look, then after spitting out some blades of grass and an eyeroll, he obeys Derek. However, instead of simply getting up, he supports himself on the ground with his palms and kicks upwards, right in Derek's direction. Derek can't hide the fact that this action surprised him, though he's still able to avoid it. Moreover, he grabs a good hold on Stiles' leg and pulls him towards himself, causing the other to fall back down to the ground, his shoulder blades hitting against it. Stiles moans due to the blunt pain and starts squirming and struggling to get his leg free. He looks up at Derek with a mixture of questioning, confused and slightly hopeful gaze. “I'm not letting you go,” states Derek. “You have to be able to get free.”

“But I _can't_!” Stiles exclaims and Derek yanks on his leg. It's not too painful, but still enough to crackle out his joint in a pleasant way. “Oh man, you should be an osteopath.” Derek's reaction to this comment is another yank, which is a little harsher and forces out another moan from Stiles' being.

“I'll keep doing that unless you can set yourself free.”

“What the-,” Stiles would say, but he's interrupted by Derek. This way he's getting closer to Derek, he notes in his mind. And it gives him the idea that he could use his other leg against him easily – and he does, he kicks it as hard towards Derek as he can, but eventually, it ends up in Derek's massive hold, too. Thanks to this, Stiles is halfway up from the ground now, only his shoulder blades and head grazing against the greens and his legs are spread slightly, one on each side of Derek's hips. Stiles reaches backwards and grabs the grass on the two sides of his head and tries to shake Derek's hands off of his shins, not really succeeding. He wheezes and eventually, it switches into angered yelling. “Let me go!” he cries out. This catches Scott and Isaac's attention and they look at them, stopping the way they are immediately – they look pretty hilarious with Scott's arms wrapped around Isaac's hips and neck, while the blond is holding Scott's leg and arm. “Let go I said!” Derek doesn't give a damn about it.

“I'm the leader now, Stiles. And I tell you to get free.”

“What are you, and alpha? Moreover, I'm starving,” he whines. Derek yanks on his legs again, practically throwing them up in the air for a second to be able to hold the curves behind Stiles' knees now. Stiles gasps and hits the back of his head against the ground, his legs kicking up in Derek's hold.

“Get free and you can eat,” Derek offers. His face looks serious. _Crap._ Stiles will die here starving.

“But how am I supposed to do that?” Stiles exclaims. “You're too strong and-”

“Still not as strong as your opponent will be. He won't be graceful to you at all.” Stiles frowns and Derek yanks on his legs again. Then something comes to Stiles' mind.

“Okay, point taken there,” he says.

“Then try and do something,” Derek urges. Stiles keeps kicking with his legs furiously, waving with his hands to find them an appropriate place, because honestly, he doesn't know where to put them just yet. Derek yanks on his legs again, his hands now halfway on his thighs. Something starts going on within Stiles' body, he feels it, and knows exactly what it means when his muscles in his abdomen squeeze so pleasantly while there's that sweet warmness tickling his stomach at the same time. And the lump in his throat that makes him choking just the right way – yes, exactly the signs of getting _seriously turned on_. He gasps and allows himself to pant in the slightest way possible, thinking it can be blamed on the position he's currently in as he tilts his head down to be able to look up at his Derek-shaped trap, who's still squeezing his legs tightly. For some reason the fact that Derek's gripping him strongly not to let him get away only makes his arousal worse. Stiles begins praying he'll be able to break free before his boner is too obvious. He slides his tongue over his lips cautiously, his gaze still locked in Derek's, whose eyes twitch suddenly and his lightly clenched lips part a little.

They would most like keep staring into each other's eyes if Scott and Isaac didn't interrupt them by falling into the sand with a short shout of surprise and a thud. Both of them is lucky enough to get sand all over their faces. Derek and Stiles look at them just in time to see the two guys fall down. Then they look back at each other and burst out laughing loudly. The two sand-covered boys give them a glare each, but they just keep on laughing loudly.

When they all calm down, Stiles realizes relieved that his slight boner is gone by now. However, Derek still has his hands on the back of his thighs, still halfway from groping his ass and-

And shit, shit, _shit_ why is he even thinking about that? He shouldn't be, especially not when his hips are in such an exposed position that Derek could notice his arousal anytime. He's got huge luck with the previous one, too, he doesn't want to risk being spotted twice. No, _no fucking way in Hell_.

“We should really go and get something to eat,” says Scott, getting up from the ground and dusting himself off. Isaac is doing the same while sitting cross-legged in the sand. Derek exhales, counting his choices, then looks down at Stiles, whose face is entirely hopeful – by now not only because he wants to eat, but because he doesn't want to get turned on any more than he already is.

“Fine,” Derek says in the end. He lets go of Stiles, practically letting his legs to fall down to the ground. He makes a comment or two at that, but Derek doesn't care about them.

They all go to the dining tables and sit down. Eventually, Erica ends up sitting in front of Stiles, because both of Stiles' sides are already taken. She's asking him about his training and how he's doing with it so far. Allison arrives and joins them at the table, too, and since Scott asks her about her archery training, they kind of separate themselves from the main chat. In the end, Derek ends up talking to Isaac, because Erica keeps Stiles busy paying attention to her.

This goes on for a long while, they even stay at the table after they've finished their meals already, until Scott suddenly shouts.

“Allison, watch out!” he grabs the girl's shoulder and yanks her away from an axe that was thrown towards her. Derek and Stiles immediately look at each other. Maybe it's the leader-follower relationship that developed between the two of them during the training.

“Get down,” Derek commands, and Stiles ducks his head down to crawl under the table. His forehead collides against the desk, but he doesn't care about it. If anything, he doesn't want to be in the way again and prevent the others from fighting wholeheartedly.

~

Two weeks have passed since the second attack. The attempts stayed present, though – the second was followed by five more during the weeks. And later not only amazons, but also a few minotaurs and a giant cyclops beleaguered the half-blood camp. Peter and Deaton are clueless why they are being attacked all the time. They've already started to set up an investigator group, which includes the three children of Athena, Kira, Malia, Peter and Deaton.

Also, most of the sports competitions were kept, too; triathlon, wrestling, pugilism and archery. Derek took part at the triathlon, Isaac did his part at wrestling, Scott at the pugilism and of course, Allison was sent to the archery competition.

Today is the day of the marathon running. The path is signed with red flags and there's an inspector at each mile. The whole route is six miles long. They mostly tried to locate it on an even ground, however, the bigger area of the camp is curved by hills and valleys.

Thanks God, the weather is cloudy and just as chilly as Stiles likes it. He's standing at the starting line, dressed up in his red tracksuit and running shoes. Currently Stiles is warming up, stretching his muscles in his legs and back, moving his arms back and forth a few times, too. He cracks the joints in his neck by tilting his head to both sides. He starts jumping modestly, shaking his arms awhile. The rest of the teams are watching their members from a few meters away.

“Okay, get ready. The marathon is starting in a few minutes,” Deaton announces.

Scott goes to Stiles and greets him with a pat on his shoulder.

“Give it everything you got,” he says. Stiles presents him with a half smile.

“Don't worry, dude.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Nope,” he replies, but doesn't stop jumping.

“You _look_ nervous.”

“Just part of my warming up,” Stiles shrugs, then suddenly stops, only to stretch his back again. He smiles satisfied when he hears his spine cracking. He lets out a relaxed sigh before looking at Scott again. “Calm down, buddy, I got this,” he winks. Scott eyes his face for a few seconds, then just nods, smiles and pats Stiles' shoulder again before leaving for the rest of their team.

Recently Derek's trainings included running competitions between the two of them. Some of these runnings occurred when neither of them could sleep at night – if that was the case, they would meet up somewhere or go to the other's place to run together. Derek needed it for the triathlon, however, even after it was settled (and he won it), he didn't quit running with Stiles. As for the martial art part of the trainings, Derek switched to be even stricter. Whenever Stiles whined about his attitude, he claimed that Stiles will not improve the tiniest bit if he's indulgent. Apparently, Stiles collected a few bruises here and there, caused by Derek, but he doesn't mind it, he knows it's for his own good. And he has to give Derek that he's attentive, because in the past three days he treated Stiles less rough to make sure he'll be able to take part in the marathon today wholeheartedly.

This is why Derek is not at all nervous about this competition. He has faith in Stiles, he came aware what he's capable of and he knows exactly he's able to win it.

“I request all of the competitors to line up at the starting line,” Deaton says.

Stiles is already there, so he only waits for the others to get into position. When the beginning of the marathon is signified by the ignition of a pistol, he lets everyone to run passed him and he stays behind at the back, patiently taking his time to jog after the others. He even turns around to blow a kiss to his teammates. Scott and Allison are shouting for him to start running, Isaac is asking him what on earth he thinks he's doing and Derek is just rolling his eyes at Stiles' usual behavior.

When the glade disappears from sight, Stiles completely devotes his attention to running. He speeds up just a tiny bit to catch up to the person who's ahead of him. He pays extra attention to his movements and breathing, and evens them out when he loses the rhythm for either of them. This is the only way he can make sure his endurance will be complimenting what he's actually capable of.

He's also aware that his worst performance on a six mile long route is one and a half hours, though when he ran that he wasn't paying attention to his speed at all.

As more time passes by, he runs passed more and more runners.

Whenever he comes to a hill where he needs to run upwards, he instinctively changes to run on his tiptoes. He's experienced in orienteering and thus knows this is the best way possible to run through acclivities. It's much less tiring and he hardly feels he's running uphill. He checks his watch – he's been running for thirty-six minutes. He knows there are only two more contestants ahead of him, and he can see one of them. He decides to enhance his speed to outstrip the individual. Luckily, a slope comes right after that, so he can kind of develop more energy for himself.

He's still paying attention to his breathing.

When he notices the last one ahead of him, they come to the last mile. His plan is to keep the current distance up between the two of them to see if the other will get tired. He's obviously been running too fast for such a long distance, contrary to him, who started off as the last one. Stiles knows what he's capable of – his fastest performance is 33.1 km/h. So even if the other is able to keep his speed up, there's just no way he'll be able to run any faster than he is doing right now. At least, not for too long. Not for so long that he would approach the finish line before Stiles.

When they arrive to the very last turn of the path, Stiles stops merely for a half second, only to enhance his speed so much that he dashes passed the guy. He's sprinting towards the finish line with everything he's got, not minding the ache in his legs nor the sudden burn in his lungs.

His breathing is still even.

And eventually, Stiles happens to tear the finish line with his chest.

He slows down after that, completely ignorant to the screams of the audience, and falls onto his knees only to lay down on the grass with his back facing the ground. Stiles' heart is hammering against his ribs and sternum while his mouth is gaping, allowing him to pant and gasp for as much amount of air as his lungs need.

In no time the other members of his team are standing tall around him, along with the centaur. He gives them a brief half smile and two thumbs up, then shakes his head weakly.

“I'm so not getting up now.”

“You know you need to, Stiles,” says Deaton. “It's tradition to hold up the hand of the winner.”

“Can't we just skip that part? Everyone knows I came first and my legs feel like jelly. I fucked them up with that mad dash.” Derek rolls his eyes.

“Can't you do anything that you're told to do?” he asks, obviously just as a rhetorical question, before leaning down to grab Stiles' wrist and biceps of either his arms and haul him off the ground. Derek wraps one of Stiles' arms around his neck not to let him collapse back while Deaton grabs his other hand and holds it up high in the air.

“The winner of the running marathon; demigod Stiles Stilinski.”

The second he lets go of Stiles' hand, it falls back feebly next to his side.

“You should let go of me, I'm pretty sure I'm reeking,” he says, turning his head to face Derek's.

“If you can walk back to your home on your shaking legs, then I'm willingly letting go of you,” he responds and Stiles huffs in annoyance.

“Okay, point taken there,” he gives in and lets himself to lean against Derek's body. His is way hotter than the other guy's, and drops of sweat keep forming on his heated skin to slide down on his face, neck and chest, ending up in a tickling sensation caused to Stiles.

Eventually, they arrive to his cottage and Derek opens the door. He leads both of them inside then looks at Stiles.

“Will you collapse if I let go of you?” Stiles shrugs.

“Dunno, buddy. Take a shot,” he grins and unwraps his arm from around Derek's neck. His legs feel deplorable and his shins numb, but he manages to stay stood. “I'm so out of action right now, but I still need to wash myself. I'm not laying in my bed like this.” Derek shakes his head in an 'I-don't-believe-you' way before reaching out for the zipper of Stiles' sweatshirt. Stiles' eyes widen in surprise and he instinctively takes a step back. “Um,” he stutters. “What did you-”

“Just trying to help you, moron,” Derek hisses before taking a step backwards as well.

Stiles nods awkwardly, feeling like an idiot now. Should he apologize? Should he tell him it's okay if he helps him? Should he do anything at all? And if he should, then why? _Why would he allow Derek to undress him in the first place?_

“I'm going now,” says Derek suddenly.

“Wait.” This makes Derek stop in his spot. He gives Stiles a questioning, awaiting look. “Can you help me to get to the lake? I'm sure I'll be able to come back here, but right now my legs are...” Stiles bites his bottom lip, it urging Derek to look down at his lips. Derek's gaze is locked with his mouth until his teeth release the soft pink area of his skin. Derek sighs and rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger before raising his face again, however, looking at a wall instead of Stiles.

“Sure.”

Derek waits until Stiles more or less undresses himself and wraps his towel around his hips. It's already started to go dark outside.

“Are you walking or should I pick you up like a bride, totally not giving a shit about your pride?” asks Derek as he opens the door. Stiles grins at him, deciding to tease him again. He just likes to do it for some reason, and that's it. _He loves to tease Derek._

“I don't know, you tell me,” he says, beelining and stopping in front of the guy. They are so close that Stiles can feel the warmness of all of Derek's breaths, and if he leaned just a little closer, they would end up kissing for sure. But where did those thoughts come from?

“If my recollection is right, my legs are totally fine,” Derek says, his voice sharp.

“But you should know if you're fine with carrying my 147 pounds,” Stiles says innocently, his amber eyes huge and locked in Derek's gaze.

“You know I can carry you. I did it a while ago.”

“Yeah, I can hardly remember, though. I was halfway to falling asleep,” Stiles rubs his chin as if he was thinking, his other hand still on his hips to keep the towel in place. Derek growls and while mumbling “shut up already”, he bends down just as much as it's needed to be able to pick Stiles' body up. He does it easily, as if Stiles was weightless. “Oh my silent secret hero,” Stiles says dramatically, changing his voice to sound like one of the typical lines that the ladies say. “You're the sweetest,” he adds, out of mere joke, but it makes Derek tense up all of a sudden.

By the time they arrive to the lake, some drops of rain are falling down from the silver sky. Derek puts Stiles down, not letting go of him until he's securely standing on his own feet.

“Thanks,” he grins up at Derek. There isn't a big difference between their heights, but Derek is still a little higher than Stiles.

“No problem,” Derek replies. “You did well today.”

“Does this mean I can skip tomorrow's training?” Stiles' face lights up at the idea even before Derek would give an answer.

“Not even in your dreams. Now go wash yourself and then sleep.”

Derek leaves Stiles at the shore. Stiles sighs and unwraps his towel, hangs it on a branch and slowly sinks into the water. He appreciates how pleasantly cold it is, since his body is still heated.

He tries to clear his mind, but he's unable to do it. For some reason he can't get rid of the thought how Derek chose to pick him up instead of walking him here. Maybe it was because carrying him here was the faster choice.

Maybe it was for some other reason.

Stiles wonders what's the reason behind that. Derek is such a mystery and he's been obsessed with solving mysteries ever since he's known his mind.

Stiles wants to know what leads Derek when making such choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are so cute oh my god you have no idea! I love you all for the comments I got on my work so far, they really help a lot to go on writing.
> 
> I hope you liked this one, too and you enjoyed the training part. ;-; If not, I'm so digging a whole to bury myself somewhere.


	5. Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek's trainings go on, and slowly but surely the Olympics come to and end, too.

Okay, so after all that happened the previous day, Stiles has to admit he has a tiny crush on Derek. Not a serious one, no, not at all. Just a tiny little harmless crush. Nothing more. No.

Today's practicing is forced to be shortened, because the hammer throwing and swimming competitions are still ahead of them. They decided to send Derek for both, and he had no choice but to go with the flow. Stiles had to help the others to convince Derek, though.

Stiles hits Derek on the ribs – he's improved, so now he's officially able to have an actual fight with someone. The only problem is that his punch has no strength. At least not as much as it would cause too much pain to Derek. Maybe it's just the subconscious part of Stiles' mind which doesn't want to harm the guy, or maybe he's just that weak. However, Scott and Isaac are claiming Stiles is able to hit strong enough, but Derek says otherwise.

The fight between them ends with Stiles' defeat and Derek's victory – nothing different from the previous attempts. Stiles is panting with his hands on his knees, supporting himself, but he manages to make a face at Derek, despite being tired, who's already waving his hand, showing Stiles to make another attempt. He always has enough energy to present Derek with such things, like making faces at him or crossing his arms because he's sulking.

“Can't we just take a break?” Stiles offers, completely out of breath. Derek shakes his head.

“No. I have to attend both of the upcoming competitions, and we hardly have time to train. And another attack can occur anytime, you know that well.” Derek beckons Stiles again, urging him to attack. “Come on.” Stiles stubbornly shakes his head and collapses down to the ground. “Get up if you don't want to be punished again.” Stiles acts as if he didn't hear it. For some reason his mind is convinced that Derek wants to punish him in a way that he would like, too. His mind is wandering to a really dangerous territory, to a place where his thoughts just should not go. At least not until he's alone in his house. But reality is just not like that. Not for Stiles.

Derek ends up approaching him and cowering down next to his head. As Stiles looks up at him with an innocent look, he meets Derek's flat gaze. He's not impressed by Stiles ignoring him.

“Get up or you'll seriously regret waking up today,” he threatens, but it only chases a smile on Stiles' lips.

“Have you ever heard _Sweet Home Alabama_?” he asks, only to get a confused expression back. “That song could help you with anger management. It would calm you, dude,” Stiles advises, reaching up to pat Derek's shoulder, but he can only reach his chest, so he ends up patting that. Derek seems to be raging on. “Don't be so tensed, man,” Stiles continues. “Chill a bit.”

“I'm not chilling, and neither are you,” Derek says, his tone determined. “Now get up, or you don't want _me_ to do that for you now, do you?” It's obviously another threat, but Stiles' mind is too dull to notice. He's tired either physically and mentally – he hasn't taken his Adderall since he had his insomnia.

For some reason, maybe because Derek is too fed up with dealing with Stiles, or he's too tired to say anything to that comment, he stands and walks away, leaving his pupil all alone, laying in the grass in his dew-moist clothes.

A loud sigh tears Stiles' lips open and he stares up at the sky. The Sun is up and bright, beaming down to the earth with only a few clouds breaking the vision of the pale blue sky. He doesn't move at all and just lets thoughts invade his mind – how Derek is treating him, how he's behaving with him during the trainings, how differently he acts than he did in the beginning. Derek used to be much harsher and ruder. Contrary to that, now he tends to be a tiny bit kinder to Stiles. Maybe it means that he likes him? Maybe Derek–

Stiles shakes his head and rubs his eyes with both of the heels of his hands. He wheezes and cries out.

“Why can't I quit thinking about this all the time?”

“Thinking about what?”

Stiles recognizes surprised that he's not alone. He has Scott's company. Stiles shakes his head again while the other makes himself comfortable sitting cross-legged next to him.

“Really, what happened?” Scott urges. “Is Derek too strict?”

“No, not that,” Stiles responds, then denies. “Actually, he is. But not that's the problem.”

“So there _is_ a problem, actually.” Stiles glares at Scott before sighing exasperatedly in defeat.

“Okay, there is, I have to admit,” he says, giving in. “But it's nothing important. Really.”

“Just say it out loud. It helps.” Stiles sits up, propping himself with his arms resting behind his back.

“You know, this group reminds me of a wolf pack where you would stand for the role of being the Alpha,” he states. Before Scott would have a chance to say anything else, Stiles goes on speaking. “You always take care of everyone, make sure everyone is okay and safe and sound. No wonder why you're the son of Hera. You treat us like we were your family that you hold close to your heart.” Scott smiles and ducks his head down, tearing idly at the blades of grass. Stiles smiles and pats his back before stroking it gently. “I really like that about you.”

“If you have the energy to chit-chat with Scott, you should have the energy to continue your training, too,” a sharp voice says. It stabs Stiles right in the gut. He doesn't even need to look up to know it's unmistakably Derek.

Derek, who is currently half-naked, only having a pair of swimming pants on him. His sculpted body is obvious even under the clothes he wears, but Stiles has to admit it's much better when he has nothing on. Actually, the terms of _nothing_ should include the lack of those pants, too. And then maybe he could–

And these thoughts again. He scolds himself mentally and forces his eyes to look anywhere but at Derek – not quite managing. He can't help but keep his gaze on Derek's abs, his muscled chest and the way his biceps flexes and stretches. Stiles' mind is filled to the brim with images what he could – would – do to those body parts.

Thanks God he's the one attending the swimming competition, Stiles notes in his mind.

He watches all the way as Derek walks into the lake, strokes water all over his body to let his skin get adjusted to its temperature, until he disappears with a more or less dive under the surface. He orders himself to quit staring at Derek before it would be too obvious for Scott, but when Stiles looks at him, he notices he's not even paying attention. Rather, his eyes are fixed on the hills in the distance.

“So today's the day of hammer throwing,” he says, changing the subject. Scott doesn't look at him and doesn't even give any response, either. Instead, after about a minute or so, he turns to Stiles and looks him in the eye.

“I love Allison.” At first Stiles is puzzled by this, but then just nods.

“Yeah, I know, boy, you've already got your point across like, two and half weeks ago,” he pats Scott's shoulder again, then instinctively looks back at Derek. “Why don't go you go and tell her?”

“How would I tell her?” Scott sounds panicked. Stiles raises a brow at him.

“I don't know. Maybe you could just, for example, go to her and ask if she had time to talk. Then take her to a nice place where only the two of you are, and confess.” When he looks at Scott's awaiting face, he exhales. “God, do I get to tell what to say to her? _I love you._ That's all it takes.” Suddenly his stomach twists and jumps amidst his abdomen. Really, that's all it would take, right? Right. But his situation is a little more complicated than Scott's.

“But how do I tell that to her? What if she laughs at me? What if she denies me? What if–,” he goes on only to be interrupted by Stiles.

“Dude, you'll never know what would happen _if_ , unless you actually try.” Scott worries his lower lip between his teeth for a while before nodding slowly, unsure.

“You're right.” Stiles gives him a half smile.

“I'm always right, but you already know that.” Scott makes a face at him, but eventually, he ends up smiling and chuckling, punching Stiles' shoulder with his fist playfully.

“Okay okay, I'll ask her. But I don't know when. Is there a perfect time for these convos?”

“Don't be too anxious, man. That's the key – no anxiety, just the truth. Got it?” Scott nods. “Good.” After about a two-minute-long silence, he mumbles. “Everything will be just fine.”

~

The time of the hammer throwing competition arrives with mid-afternoon. The competitors are called to go to their positions. Before Derek would go, everyone gives him a reassuring smile and some encouraging words before letting him approach his place. However, he doesn't give Stiles the chance to tell everything he wants to Derek, because the guy just walks away in the middle of his sentence. It squeezes Stiles' heart painfully in his chest, but he doesn't say nor do anything apart from clenching his lips shut tightly after mumbling “all right then” under his breath. He turns his back to Derek before anyone else and goes to stand where all the other teams are to keep an eye on the match.

“Everyone, please leave the throwing area,” Deaton's voice can be heard through the murmuring conversations that the teams have with their teammates. Once the area is cleared, the centaur continues his speech. “First, I would like to greet everyone who came to watch the hammer throwing match between their and the other teams. This is the penultimate sport that is ahead of you. And with tomorrow included, the Olympics for you, demigods, are going to be over. Of course, we're going to have the winner team by then as well,” he says and looks around, scanning the whole crowd and the smaller bunch that contains of the competitors. “So let this match begin.”

And with that, he leaves the place, giving the chance to the competitors to shine. The area for the hammer throwing is the second biggest glade in the camp. The throwing circle is etched into the ground with a thick line to make sure it's available to everyone. Of course, it's placed where the grass is not present and thus the competitors have an even place to perform the spins. As in the lack of the protection of a net, Kira and Ethan are asked to make sure everyone is safe by either catching or destroying the hammers those happen to fall in a wrong direction.

The first one to go is Aiden. He has a smug look on his face and the hammer is hanging in his hand, over his shoulder, following all of his movements. It even bumps into his shin once or twice, but he really doesn't seem to mind. He walks to the further end of the circle, spits into his left palm before having a good grip on the handle of the hammer. He spins it above his head twice before letting his body to spin along with the weight of the hammer and releasing his hold on it after making a total of four spins to reach the opposite edge of the circle. He smirks and watches the flying metal after checking if his throw was valid.

Once the hammer collides into the ground with an explosion of dust and grass, Aiden leaves the circle, giving space for the upcoming contestant – Brendon, a guy whom Stiles has never seen before.

He needs a little more time to prepare himself for the throw, and he ends up in the second place, since his distance is shorter than Aiden's by approximately four or five meters.

And then Derek's turn came.

He takes his time patiently to find the perfect place for himself in the circle. He puts down the hammer and glances over his shoulder at the field before turning back and grabbing a tight hold on the metal handle. He lifts the hammer once or twice to measure its weight and adjust his movements accordingly. He does the same Aiden did – spins the object above his head twice before making four spins to reach the opposite edge of the circle.

His throw is valid, too, and ends up between Aiden and Brandon's.

Soon all the contestants are done with their throws, and then comes the second round. In the end, Aiden ends up the first and Derek the second. The others Stiles doesn't know.

~

Stiles leaves his cottage in sake of running again. He doesn't expect Derek to be at the cliff where they have been meeting up lately, ever since they had their very first talk there. He doesn't expect Derek to be there because he saw how he acted today. Stiles is still hurt by that, but on the other hand, he's also grateful because it might help him forget about Derek and get rid of all of those weird thoughts he's been having of him lately. Well, _might_.

Stiles jogs his way through the forest, makes a great circle around the camp before he decides to let his speed wind down and eventually switch to walking. He's panting and rubs a hand to his side that is aching slightly. He dared to ignore his breathing and didn't even it out. He walks uphill slowly, several dry leaves and branches cracking under his running shoes while doing so.

Eventually, he ends up at the cliff.

Just as he thought, it's empty. He sighs and walks to the very edge, sitting down and staring at the calmly waving lake that reflects the Moon along with the constellations and stars and even the Milky Way. He sits there for a good half an hour, letting his thoughts to invade his mind, not even trying to take control of their flow. He's not at all sleepy. Not the tiniest bit.

His solitary braces him to have a small talk with himself, wondering why Derek acted the way he did, why he changed his behavior to ignoring him when they started to get along rather well. Stiles also recognized the fact – he doesn't even need Adderall to have enough attention to realize – that whatever he did or said to Derek, unlike the others, he got away with it.

He sighs, stands up, dusts himself off and heads back to his house.

~

The next day Derek doesn't show up to train him. Instead of that, he spends his time in the lake to make sure he'll win the swimming competition. For the time being, Stiles is training with Isaac, however his mind is filled with possible explanations why Derek is not training him – maybe it's just the upcoming competition, or maybe because he _is_ mad at him for some reason, even though he has no idea why.

“He's really upset about failing yesterday,” Isaac says once they finish with another fighting session. “And thanks to him, you improved. A lot,” he beams a smile at Stiles, who just nods and shrugs as if it was nothing. Isaac frowns. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Stiles says, too fast. Isaac has a suspicious look on his face, however, he doesn't push the subject to try to force Stiles say anything else about the thing that's bugging him. “Let's just fight again,” he offers, already positioning his body to attack.

~

With the exception of Derek, they eat a meal at noon. Erica comes to talk to them like she always does. She asks them about the competition and how Derek feels about his defeat from yesterday. All she knows is Derek hates to come second.

“He's pretty frustrated about it,” Scott says.

“But you did well all in all, didn't you?” Erica asks, furrowing her eyebrows as she thinks back to the past two weeks.

“We did,” Isaac nods and munches on his food.

“You know Derek wants to be nothing but first when he attends any competition,” states Allison. Erica nods, assuring her she knows about that matter.

Stiles doesn't take part in the conversation.

~

Slowly but surely, the last part of the Olympics comes. The winner will be the one who approaches the floating buoy and arrives back to the shore first, performing three laps awhile in the water.

Derek shows up in his swimming pants in which Stiles'd seen him yesterday. Derek doesn't even glance in his direction and Stiles decides not to pay more attention to him either, only as much as the competition needs. After Deaton's usual speech, which this time includes the time when they are going to share the results, each one of the competitors dive into the water at the echoing thundering of a pistol.

Derek is the first one to make it under the surface.

His reflexes are flawless, there's no doubt about that. In the next second, Derek is above the surface, but far away from where he'd dived in – he made quite a distance while being underwater. In no time he touches the red buoy and shoves himself back from it. He's leading the competition so far.

It doesn't change even in the third, the last lap. Derek is obviously panting by exhaustion, but so does the other swimmers.

The last sport of the Olympics ends with Derek's victory.

~

At twilight, when the air is gray due to the Sun has set already, the crowd of demigods start to develop at the main campfire to the announcement. Excited whispering fills the air, it turning into murmuring as more and more campers arrive.

Stiles is already there when Derek joins them. He's talking to Isaac when he shows up, wearing only his pair of leather pants and sneaker boots that was on him when Stiles first saw him during the flag stealing game, but this time he also has a loose black singlet on him that reveals the upper part of Derek's chest and, on the sides, his muscles over his ribs.

Stiles really has to concentrate on what he has to say to avoid ending up stuttering thus making his liking towards Derek obvious for Isaac. No. No one can know about how he feels about the guy. _Not even Derek himself._

It has already turned completely dark when Peter and Deaton show up. They walk so they are standing in front of the huge main campfire. They scan the crowd before Peter lets Deaton reveal the first three teams with a nod of his head.

“Welcome, contestants,” he speaks up, beginning his speech. “First, I would like to tell you how proud we are of all of you, because each one of you did really well out there when it came to competing each other. Even if you didn't come first, you still need to be proud of yourself.” He glances down to a note he's holding. “I don't want to tire you any longer, so let us tell you the results. The third one is the team which contains of Jackson, Jane, Holly, Adam and Leon. Congratulations.” Sounds of clapping fill the air as the team approaches Peter for their bronze medals.

“Jackson doesn't seem too satisfied,” Stiles says, leaning close to Scott's ear so no one else can hear him. Derek's eyes flash at him the second he makes a move towards Scott, who nods in agreement.

Once the team went back to their place, Deaton continues. “The members of the second team are Ethan, Aiden, Susan, Landon and Chad. Congratulations to them as well.” They go to earn their silver medals before returning to their place to let the ceremony go on.

Peter speaks up.

“Let me announce the members of the first team,” he says, his voice has a sassy pride in it. “I call for Derek, Allison, Scott, Isaac and Stiles.” Everyone bursts out clapping, and Stiles' jaw literally drops when he hears that. The others look just as surprised as he is. He's well aware they did well during the games, but he wouldn't have thought they'd end up being the champions of the Olympics.

They walk out there, still in a shocked state, to let Peter hang the gold medals in their necks. Their team is still there when Peter announces the end of the ceremony and the beginning of the celebration.

Allison jumps into Scott's neck, which chases a wide grin on Stiles' face, knowing they are improving and building a stronger bond between themselves. By the time Stiles awakens from his daze he realizes Isaac has left already. He glances at Derek, who's eying him as well, before heading towards the table.

He grabs a glass and pours wine in it. If it's a celebration, then I shall celebrate accordingly, he thinks as he shoves the drink down his gullet, all in one go. Stiles senses that Derek followed him there, but he doesn't care about it. At least, _tries_ not to care about the fact he's behind him dressed in those clothes which reveal his sculpted body–

And that's the point where Stiles shushes his imagination and devotes his complete attention to drinking.

After his sixth or seventh shot his mind is dull. It's never been too hard for him to get drunk, in fact. He stumbles to his side, then feels a warm palm on his shoulder.

“Watch your step,” the voice says. He looks up and sees Derek's serious face.

“Hey, Sourwolf,” he chirps. “Why not smile? It's a celebration. Come on, an' celebrate.” Stiles organizes his strength to be able to stand on his own legs. “I mean–” He's interrupted by a hiccup. “I mean it must suck to have Hades as a parent, but hey,” he beams at Derek with the widest grin he can muster. “Let yourself have a good time. See? You're frowning again. Soooourwolf,” he says, lengthening the nickname he gave Derek and his index finger reaching up to touch the skin between Derek's eyebrows.

“What?”

“I mean, I'm sure a lot of people bug you for that, but you know, you know–,” he trails off and frowns in confusion, seemingly forgetting what he wanted to say. Then he continues. “It's actually fitting for you. Hades is also the god of the treasures lying underneath, and that's exactly–,” he looks around with his eyes narrowed, then directs his eyes back at Derek. “Exactly how I felt... feel...” he looks confused with the words, then just ends up shrugging. “Whatever. Point is, it's the same how I thought about you.”

Derek only manages to blurt out a “what?” again, not at all getting anything Stiles wants to tell him, however, he faintly gets the part that Stiles is trying to say he likes him in a way.

“I hated you at first, man,” he explains. “Then I talked to you more and got to know you and now I...” Stiles opens his arms as if he wanted to hug Derek, as if he was telling something wonderful. “I like you.”

Suddenly Stiles' drunk smile is the most adorable and most attractive thing Derek can think of in the entire world. His possessiveness and territorial nature breaks to the surface again, and he just _has to have it_.

So without allowing himself to think twice, he drops his glass of wine, grabs both of Stiles' cheeks and leans in, locking their lips together. Stiles makes a high-pitched sound somewhere in the back of his throat out of pure surprise, and for some reason it urges Derek to kiss him better, harder, deeper. He can't help but to instinctively push Stiles against the desk and pin his hips against the wooden table with his. It catches Stiles off-guard and he lets out a gasp, it giving Derek the opportunity to slide his tongue into the other's mouth – which he does. It takes him a few seconds to realize through the heat that Stiles isn't protesting at all, moreover, he surrendered himself in an ease to him. His arms snake around Derek's neck and while one of them stays wrapped around his neck to pull him closer, the other locks its fingers into his dark strands of hair. Stiles is pulling his hair like his life depended on it, so desperately that all that Derek wants to do is to keep kissing him, with no end. Ever.

Eventually, after a little while, Derek instinctively starts bucking his hips forward a little, into Stiles', only to feel both of them have turned hard by now. This revelation makes Derek groan and reaches for the table to toss everything away so he can push Stiles on the desk. He grabs Stiles' hips and lifts him a little, earning an agreeing whine from him, to sit him there. Stiles spreads his legs, letting Derek as close to himself as possible. He even wraps his legs tightly around Derek's waist to make sure he won't move away even an inch. Derek changes to kiss Stiles' neck, to bite and suck on his skin passionately, a little fiercely even. The panting and wheezing sounds Stiles is performing are literally driving him crazy and urging his heart to pump his blood at least three times faster than its usual rate.

Once Derek finds the soft spot on Stiles' neck, which is somewhere near to the crook of his neck and his collarbone, Stiles' lips are torn away from each other by a high-pitched moan as he intuitively tilts his head back, giving Derek more room to do magic on his sensitive skin.

Derek feels Stiles' jugular vein pulsing fast under his heated skin. All he wants to do is to make it pulse faster, to make Stiles say his name like a mantra, to make him beg for more... The thoughts force out a growl from Derek.

“D-damn,” Stiles whispers in a weak voice, obviously lost in their passion. “Shit. Don't growl. That's too hot.” Derek can't help, but to do it again. Stiles' words... the entire of Stiles makes him lose his mind, lose all of his sanity. The sound he makes chases another moan out of Stiles' being before he starts talking again. “W-why'd I get a kiss, though?” he whines in pleasure when Derek licks up along his neck then bites the sensitive area of skin under his ear. “You avoided me for two days.”

Derek puts his mouth right next to Stiles' ear so he can whisper right into it, his hot breath hitting against the other's skin once again, it sending several shivers down Stiles' spine.

“That was because I heard you talking to Scott. You said you liked him,” Derek whispers into his ear before licking it and nibbling on the top of it gently, in a way that makes Stiles grab a handful of his singlet and pull him as close as possible.

“I–,” Stiles starts, hardly able to speak by now. “I said I really liked that he cares about people close to him, actually.” One of his hands fly behind him to be able to support himself somewhere while Derek is continuing his sweet, yet lustful attack of kisses.

Derek doesn't respond to that – well, not verbally; he pins Stiles' entire body against the surface of the desk and slides one of his hands under his T-shirt while the other stays on his hips. His palms are hotter than they were a few minutes before.

“Oh my God, touch me, please, touch me...” Stiles whines, and Derek doesn't hesitate to do so. He slides his hand to Stiles' crotch from his hip and starts pleasing him through his jeans. Stiles tilts his head backwards once again, leaving it exposed for Derek who, obviously, takes the chance to form another hickey there. Stiles is reduced to a panting-moaning mess, his hands massaging Derek's chest and abs, slowly but surely sliding lower and lower on his body.

However, the moment they approach his belt, Derek freezes and his eyes fly open. He takes his hands away and backs off from Stiles, who's too surprised to tighten his legs to prevent the other from getting away.

“Come back,” he says, his T-shirt pushed up halfway on his body. Derek seriously has to fight his urge to tackle Stiles again, but manages to croak out the words.

“No. Not here. Everyone's here.” Stiles frowns.

“That wasn't nice, man,” he says, pushing himself off the table before tugging his shirt back to place. “If it's too embarrassing for you if the others found out then do me a favor and don't play around with me.” His tone is cold and harsh, it making Derek desperate. He can't decide whether if it's the influence of the alcohol or Stiles is sober by now. Well, more or less sober. He goes to say it's not at all embarrassing for him, and he only used the wrong words, but Stiles is gone by then. He looks around, but can't see any sign of the teenager.

~

Stiles is walking among the trees in the forest, making a beeline towards his house. He's pissed at Derek for fucking with him like that. He doesn't stop, just hurries on his way, until he eventually comes to a stop. He looks around again to make sure he heard the voice.

“Yes, Stiles. He was a jerk for using you.”

“Who's there?” Stiles narrows his eyes to try to catch a shape out of the dark. He sees a curvy one soon, coming out from behind a tree. The girl approaches him, her eyes locked with his and a small, inexplainable smile is sitting on her lips.

“Derek was a jerk for taking advantage of you,” she repeats. Stiles frowns and arches a brow when her arms slowly slide around his neck, resting on his shoulders. Her seductive behavior puzzles him, he's unsure what to do about it or how to react. He's been keeping his eyes on the girl's arms until now, and he reaches up to gently push them away from him, but one of the elegant hands travel to his chin, making him look her right straight in the eyes. “Let me help you out with that matter.”

Before Stiles could react, she kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say that I'm really-really grateful for all the support I'm given by you all. ♥
> 
> To avoid any confusion: no, Hades is _not_ Derek's father. I have someone better in mind for him ;)
> 
> Let me know if you noticed anything or if this sucks. And I'm so so so so sorry for tiring you with the description of the hammer throwing thingie. ;-;


	6. Disturbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's life in the camp turns into a struggle while getting denying looks and actions from the environment.

The first rays of the Sun wake Derek up. He opens his eyes with a few soft blinks then glances around in his room. He sits up and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet touch the floor and he shuffles them a little on the wooden ground, deep in his thoughts. Derek puts a hand on his head as he thinks back to what happened last night. All he wants to do is to repeat it, to clear this up with Stiles, to tell him he misunderstood and make everything back to how it used to be between them – with the exception of a deeper relationship. That's the only thing Derek wants to change; he wants a deeper, stronger bond with Stiles that includes kissing, touching and being able to comfort each other and being there for the other.

I'm seeing him a little anyway, he thinks, and this momentary thought seems to be enough to get him going. He shoves himself off his bed and does his usual morning routine which consists of doing push-ups (even with one hand), pull-ups on the door frame, sit ups and squats. After this, he dresses up into a pair of basketball shorts, then jogs his way to the shore, to Stiles' place.

He recognizes the rest of their team already warming up – everyone, except for Stiles. Derek sighs, thinking that kid must be asleep like he always is. Derek nears them and greets them with a nod, before making a beeline to Stiles' door. This way they can have a little alone time together, which is good, because that's clearly what they need. Some time alone to clear things up.

Derek lets himself in without knocking. He's never knocked ever since he first came here to find Stiles deeply asleep, not even making the slightest reaction to as loud sounds which should have woken him up.

“Stiles, get up, we–,” Derek starts to say, only to let his words stick on his throat. He looks around in the whole cottage, but eventually ends up next to Stiles' bed.

Stiles'  _empty_ bed.

His eyes widen and he runs back outdoors to the others to ask if they saw him come out, but just as he asks that question, he realizes it's needless to ask – if they saw him coming out they would have warned him not to go inside the house. The reactions he earns seem to support this theory of his.

“He's not in there?” Scott asks, taking a few steps closer to Derek and the house. Derek shakes his head.

“Where'd he go?” Isaac asks, his voice filled with worry.

“Maybe he couldn't sleep,” Allison suggests. “Remember, he said he's been suffering from insomnia.”

What they don't know, and what only Derek knows, is what happened between them last night and how upset Stiles was after Derek suddenly denied to finish the scenario they started up.

Which he enjoyed as well, just to clarify.

“I'm going to search for him,” Derek says, his voice determined. The others agree and claim that they are helping, too.

This is how they end up searching for Stiles. They spit up so they can look everywhere. After a little while Allison is the lucky person to find the teenager. Soon the others arrive to the scene, too, after not being successful with their search.

“You found him?” Derek asks and Allison nods. She's worrying her lower lip between her teeth, which makes Derek anxious. He wants to ask if there was a problem, but Allison beats him to it by giving an answer to the unasked question.

“Yeah, but...” she trails off, organizing her thoughts as she runs her fingers over her hair. “You won't be happy.” Derek arches an eyebrow confusedly before looking over Allison's shoulder to see Stiles sitting at a dining table with Erica and a few other people. He's smiling and gesturing with his hands like he always does, however, this time his movements are strange. The same, yet still different from _Stiles_.

He's moving his hands in a calmer way, a colder way even, as if he had no emotions at all. His hair is messy, like the messiest nest in the world, his skin is paler than usual and his eyes... his eyes are what shock Derek. The warm amber has changed to a darker brown and it's completely empty of all feelings, like a wasteland. Under his eyes there's also a light dark hint.

Derek doesn't like it. He's been observing Stiles ever since he admitted to himself that he likes the teenager, so he's obviously able to tell if something's up with him simply by paying him a look. He starts walking towards the boy, but after his first four or five steps Stiles looks at him with his rigid gaze, forcing Derek to a stop. Stiles smirks at him and nods to him in a greeting, before turning back to talk to the others, who look at Derek, too, following the direction where Stiles' eyes darted before.

They eye him for a short while, running their eyes up and down on him a few times before making a disgusted face at him and turning back to face Stiles. Derek turns back to Allison confusedly and with the hint of a  _slight_ despair on his face. The girl beats him to asking anything by giving an answer already – again.

“He's claiming you're the one who...” Allison bites her lip.

“He's the one, who?” Scott urges. Allison shuts her eyes tightly, squeezing them before looking back at the boys, her sight resting on Derek in the end.

“He's the interpretor of the homicidal attacks.”

“What?” Isaac's voice is a mixture of disbelief, surprise and a little anger.

“Bullshit,” Scott says, shaking his head. “He would never do that. _Ever._ ”

“Also, Derek had been with us the whole time, how on earth would he do that?” Isaac pushes. Allison shrugs.

“I-I don't know. He's just telling that to everyone.”

Derek's eyes widen and the rest of their team looks at him.

“What do we do now?” Scott asks. He doesn't even try to hide his despair from the others. Not that he would manage, either, since he's not good at acting anyway. Derek surprises everyone by simply shrugging.

“Nothing. I'm sure he has a reason.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Scott asks, pathos in his voice. “It's not good like this, and _everyone_ believes him!”

“Scott's right,” Isaac adds. “How can you say it's alright? He's ruining your life here. No reason would be enough to do such a thing.”

“What reason would he have anyway?” Allison asks. “You've been training him, you didn't do anything to harm him. He clearly has _no reason and no right_ to do this.” With that, she takes off.

“Where are you going?” Scott asks.

“To talk to him.”

“What? No, don't,” Scott grabs Allison's wrist and gently, but strongly, pulls her back. He gets a glare from the girl which urges him to let go of her wrist immediately, as if he touched something hot and burnt his hand with it.

“Why not? Stiles can't keep doing this.”

“I know. And he won't,” Derek says. “But you won't solve anything by going there now to talk to him. I'm sure he'll end up talking _at you_.”

“He's right. We need to find another solution,” Isaac says, tearing his eyes away from Stiles, who's still having a good time with the little group he has at the table.

“Okay, then,” Allison says, her voice skeptical. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

“Don't be so cynic,” Isaac says.

“I'm going to talk to Peter,” Derek announces.

“And what if he exiles Stiles from the camp?” Scott asks worriedly.

“Trust me; he won't do that,” Derek responds, his voice determined.

“Why are you so sure about that?” Isaac asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Just trust me on this” is all Derek says before leaving their little group. Allison, Isaac and Scott share a look among each other, then glance at Stiles, their gaze lingering for a few seconds, before following Derek to Peter's place.

“What are you planning to do?” Isaac approaches Derek.

“Peter is too strict,” Allison adds.

“Yes, exactly. The moment he comes aware of what Stiles is doing, he won't let him stay here any longer for sure,” Scott supports Allison's statement.

“He won't relegate him,” Derek insists.

“Why are you so sure about that? Do you honestly think he'd listen to you if you crawl on your knees, bend down and kiss his shoes?” Scott's voice sounds really nervous.

“No,” Derek responds. He exhales a huge amount of air from his lungs, taking his time patiently by lengthening it, before finishing his answer. “But the fact he's my uncle will influence his decision.”

The shock that the three kids get makes them to stop right at the middle of their step.

“I wasn't supposed to tell you. To anyone,” Derek adds. “We didn't want anyone to know about our relation, but you'd got to know about it in a few minutes anyway.”

While on their way, some campers come towards their group. They reduce their talk to mere whispering and Derek can see in the corner of his eyes that they point at him with their fingers once they think they are out of his sight. When they are close enough to Peter's house, and it's obvious they are heading towards it, some demigods even have the guts to ask him if he's going to the leader because he wants to leave the camp.

Derek ignores everyone.

All he thinks of is Stiles. He has to find a solution, an answer why he's doing this. He knows Stiles wouldn't do such things by his own free will. He would never harm anyone, and being outspoken is not equal with hurting others' feelings – that's merely being ultimately honest.

Derek doesn't even knock on the door, only bursts it open to see Peter, Deaton and the rest of the investigation group sitting at a table. He obviously interrupted a session. However, instead of shooing him out, Peter stands up.

“Good thing you came, Derek,” he says, his voice dangerously calm. “We're talking about you.” Derek looks at all the people sitting at the table. He can't help but notice how Malia looks at him. He has no doubt she wouldn't protest if he was sent out of the camp. But they are related, too.

“What is the session about?” Derek asks, not minding the puzzled and disapproving looks from the rest of the members. After all, up until now, only Peter, Deaton and Malia knew about their relation. Of course the others don't see why he would have enough right to know what they are having a discussion about.

“Currently,” Peter starts, tapping his fingertips together delicately as he looks back at the table. “about Stiles.” Derek arches both of his eyebrows, urging Peter to go on talking, however, he remains silent.

“We're trying to find out why he's doing this,” Deaton finishes.

“Do you have any idea why he's doing it?” Malia asks. Derek's eyes flash on her.

“No,” he ends up saying after considering his choices. He doesn't want to share with anyone what happened after yesterday's nightfall.

“Join us,” Deaton says, then looks at the three teenagers, who arrived a while ago as well, behind Derek. “All of you.”

They all file into the room and take a seat at the table.

“Try to come up with ideas. Try to figure something out. How has he been acting lately? Any strange signs?” Deaton asks to start the investigation somewhere.

“I didn't notice anything,” Susan claims. “Not when he was here. Also, he doesn't have any proof against you,” she adds, her eyes switching at Derek.

“What changed, though?” Deaton asks, putting his hand to his chin.

“And more importantly: _when_?” Peter asks, putting extra stress on the last word as he leans against the table, propping himself on his palms while still standing.

“The worst part is that everyone believes him, because he's a member of the investigation team and you two are close to each other,” Susan says and Derek looks at her with a sharp glimpse in his eye. “What? Don't look at me like that, I'm just saying facts here,” she throws her hands up in defense. “Also, everyone noticed that Stiles is the one you let closest to yourself.” Derek wants to deny it at first, but he has to notice there's nothing he could deny about that. It's true, anyway.

So he ends up shrugging.

“Where is he now?” Malia asks.

“I don't know.” Everyone perks up at that and they instantly look in the direction of the source of the voice. “Here, for example.”

Stiles is standing at the doorway, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other resting above his head against the door frame, his hips tilted toward the frame as well as his legs are crossed. He throws a smile to Derek along with a tilt of his head. A modest, cold smile stretches on Peter's thin lips slowly. Too slowly.

“Why start the session without me?” he asks, approaching the table. Peter walks to him, standing in his way and blocking him from the table.

“You're not expected here,” he says, but Stiles is just smiling.

“Am I not?” he looks at Derek. “But I could help you the most.”

“We do not need your aid, thank you,” Peter replies, patting Stiles' chest. The grin is still present on Stiles' face.

“But I want to help you,” he insists. “Derek is definitely in need of it,” Stiles' eyes travel to the said guy, who's just looking at him with an expressionless face, a face that he used to look at him with at the beginning, when they got to know each other.

“Trust me, he isn't,” Peter smiles, and turns Stiles around before tossing him towards the door. “But thank you for your offer, anyway.”

Before Stiles could respond in any way, Peter shoves the door closed, then turns back to the team.

“Well then, let's find a solution, shall we? He's pissing me off so much I'm seriously considering getting rid of him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twist!
> 
> The story is going to get interesting from this point on. Now comes the explanation part, where I'm going to reveal _everything_ and give the answers to all of your questions.
> 
> I hope you're waiting for the next part. ^^


	7. Innuendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigator group tries to find a solution for the issue with Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another character's godly parent's identity is uncovered. Also, I would like to apologize to all of you who don't like any form of violence, but it's the most important key of this chapter.

 

“I think he's possessed,” Deaton claims. Peter's eyes dart at him in a half second, and so does the others'.

“Are you kidding?” Susan asks, and Peter cocks his head to the side. Deaton exchanges an exasperated, worried look with each one of the people being present in the room along with him.

“I'm afraid I'm not,” he replies. His voice clearly tells everyone that he would have preferred to give the opposite answer to that question, too. The centaur looks at Peter, who's standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground nervously. “We should not harm him, Peter. Stiles doesn't deserve it, he's not doing all these by free will.”

“I know that well,” comes the response.

“But you'd love to, don't you?” asks Malia. Peter looks at her.

“To hurt him?” he nods slowly. “Sure. He's fucking with Derek.” Derek's stomach twitches, twists and jumps amidst his ribs when he hears that. He couldn't help but to think of the other meaning of that sentence. It gives Derek the feeling that Peter knows about what happened between him and Stiles yesterday night, but he's also convinced he doesn't. After all, where would he heard about it from when nobody saw him and Stiles?

“What gave you the idea of the possession?” Allison asks.

“Usually he doesn't look like this. He seemed to be much colder and rigid this time. Or something like that. I really can't explain it.” Derek knows what he's saying and that he has a point. He realized it as well – there's just no way he wouldn't recognize if something was up with _Stiles_. He still has the image of Stiles' brutally changed eyes burnt in his mind.

Derek's been sitting at the table in complete silence with both his legs and arms crossed over each other, but now he stands up suddenly with impatience in his fast movements, like he needs to be somewhere else. Anywhere, just not here.

Without saying a word, he goes for the door, totally ignoring Peter's questions asking him about where he's heading to. In a few moments, he's nowhere to be seen to the members of his team nor the investigator group.

Derek walks through the forest, making a beeline to the cliff. Branches are colliding to his body all over, but he couldn't care less about the pain he receives when his face is cut by one of them. He only stops at the edge of the trees once he approached his destination to see someone standing there. He can't quite see the person apart from their shape, since the Sun is setting just behind the individual. One of Derek's hands is thrown up to his forehead to protect his sight from the sunbeams as he starts walking closer.

The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes that the person is nobody but Stiles.

He hasn't recognized him coming closer and closer, so the moment Derek touches his shoulder, Stiles' whole body shudders and he shouts shortly, yet loudly, out of surprise and fright. When the teenager looks at him, Derek's presented with a dismissive look. His voice is rejective as well.

“What is it, Derek?” Stiles' lips curl into a smug smirk. “Were you missing me?”

Derek frowns.

“I wouldn't say that.” Stiles tilts his head to the side, acting like a cat, the smirk still on his lips. “I'm missing _you_.” Both of the boy's eyebrows raise at that before looking away while rubbing his chin with a hand. He nods a little.

“Nice phrase there,” he ends up saying. He keeps his eyes at the picturesque panorama, that's lying in front of him with the sunset, while adding. “But I'm Stiles now.”

“Not for me,” Derek shakes his head. “Stiles is someone who would never harm anyone without a purpose or a reason.”

“So you think I'm a harmless little bunny?” He laughs modestly. “Then you misunderstood me, dude.”

“Is this about the kiss from earlier?”

“You mean the one where you took advantage of me and sucked a few hickeys on my neck?” Stiles asks, seemingly willing to clear it up, but he obviously knows what Derek's talking about and he's obviously enjoying to tease him.

“Exactly that one,” Derek nods, acting ignorant to Stiles' attempt of teasing. For some reason it chases another smug smile on the teenager's face. “You're not fooling me,” Derek adds, and Stiles gives him a questioning face. “It's too obvious you're not yourself. You're something that's possessing his body, or at least, looks like him. _You're not Stiles._ ”

“Great theory, man,” Stiles nods approvingly. “However, it's wrong. It's Stiles Stilinski standing in front of you.” To add emphasis to his words, he turns so his whole body is facing Derek's.

~

“We need him to catch the interpretor,” Deaton claims, his eyes scanning through the whole group awhile.

“Indeed,” Susan agrees. “He definitely saw someone who's either the one committing the homicidal attempts or someone who's helping the killer.”

“There's just one question left then,” Peter speaks up as well, earning everyone's attention this way. “How do we bring him back?”

“I only know one way,” Deaton answers. He shares an intense look with Peter which makes Malia shiver. She doesn't like that look on Peter's face. Nor the half smile that follows that murderer gaze. She knows them too well.

~

“I'm leaving,” Derek says, already turning around and heading towards the trees.

“Oh?” Stiles smirks, his eyes fixed on the other. “I thought you had this little thought about saving me? Or something like that?” he cocks his head teasingly when Derek looks back at him. “Or maybe it sublimed from your mind? Could it be?” Stiles takes a few steps closer to Derek, not even stopping talking for a second. “Could it be that you don't care about me? Could it be that everything you did was just an act to hook me up?”

“Shut up!” Derek couldn't help but shout at the teenager, who stops right at his spot suddenly, not nearing Derek anymore.

“Then explain it,” he urges. “I wonder why you're acting all worked up about what is going on with me when you would have left me so simply and easily.”

“To help you,” Derek responds. Stiles' eyebrow arches in a questioning manner.

“Oh yeah? How? What could you do? Have a little chit-chat about me with the others? What could you all possibly do?”

Derek stays silent.

“Nothing,” Stiles finishes with giving an answer to his own asked question.

“Indeed,” Derek agrees. This reaction catches Stiles off-guard and he ends up making a confused face before he could take control over his facial expressions. “We can't do anything by simply having a chit-chat with _you_ while we could be thinking of a way to bring you back.”

“There's no way to bring 'me' back,” Stiles says, using his fingers for quotation marks. “Because it's me. I'd be glad if you understood it already so I wouldn't have to keep parroting myself.”

Derek shrugs and turns away from Stiles once more. However, he's stopped again by Stiles' voice that's shaky, weak and precatory with a slight hint of apologetic tone in it this time as he croaks out a clumsy “Derek”.

If nothing, that catches Derek's attention.

When he turns around on his heels he sees Stiles' teared-up eyes. He wouldn't do anything, he wouldn't let himself be fooled, but he takes a closer look instinctively to realize that the warm amber is back, and it's present in his gaze again. Derek bridges the distance that's stretching between them and puts both of his hands on Stiles' cheeks, his warm palms caressing the boy's skin, which is now soaked by the tears those have streamed down on it.

“Come here,” Derek murmurs to him in a calming tone as he wraps an arm around the slender, seemingly vulnerable body and pulls Stiles into his tight embrace, not willing to let go of him, ever again. “Everything will be alright.” While saying that, his hand travels from Stiles' cheek to his nape. He starts to stroke it gently, soothingly.

And Stiles leans into his touch.

He presses his lips to Stiles' temple, leaving one or two kisses there, his other hand moving up and down on the boy's back while holding him close still.

He can feel Stiles' hands move after a little while, they snaking around his waist and requiting pulling him close, too. It results in their bodies colliding to each other, but none of them minds it. Stiles sobs into Derek's shoulder while mumbling “sorry”. Derek doesn't say anything, just lets him cry.

Stiles' hands squeeze his body strongly in the next moment, and the next thing he knows is that he's tackled to the ground and Stiles is straddling his hips, a smirk on his lips. Derek would love this position, but something is wrong.

Stiles' eyes turned back to that emotionless, intimidating dark.

“Really?” he asks, his tone pitying. “I shed a few tears and you get all cheesy?” he shakes his head in an 'I-don't-believe-you' way. “Come on. You're the grumpiest Adonis I've ever met. Don't shame that attribute.” Derek frowns.

~

“The logical question is: who's capable of having possession over someone in this camp?” Susan says, eying everyone at the room.

“No one,” Malia says. “No one has such powers.” Susan shoots her a glare.

“Well, it must be _someone_ because Stiles is possessed.”

“And this person is definitely in this camp,” Deaton adds. “You must know well whom you decide to have possession over.”

“Exactly,” Peter nods. “But could you come with suggestions, like _names_ of the potential interpretor?”

“I have a list,” Susan says, already shoving the paper in front of the leader. The man grabs it and after reading each name written there, he speaks up again.

“I think I know who we're looking for.”

~

“Will you let go of me?” Derek asks, his voice flat and clearly unimpressed.

“Can you quit acting so uninterested?” Stiles asks with a wicked smile sitting on his lips. “I know you like this.”

“Honestly, I don't quite like it,” Derek responds, it making Stiles frown annoyed.

“This is what you wanted to do with me, isn't it?” he asks as he grinds down to Derek once. Derek really needs all his self-control and a bite in his bottom lip to prevent himself from letting out a moan. Stiles is bracing himself on the ground on both sides of Derek's head, his fingers squeezing the grass tightly. He slowly leans down to force a kiss as well, but in the next second he suddenly stops moving as if he was paralyzed, his eyes wide and his look startled.

Without saying another word, he jumps off of Derek's body and runs towards the trees. Derek doesn't understand anything, but he has a feeling he needs to follow the teenager, because he's just about to get himself into trouble. Huge trouble.

~

“What are you talking about?” Barbara asks, giving a confused look to Peter, Deaton and the rest of the team. While Peter had been talking to her, they made a circle around them to make sure she's not getting away.

“The scenario is too obvious,” Peter says, his tone threateningly calm. “You're the only child of Eris here. And Stiles is clearly making a feud that involves Derek for some reason.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she says, shaking her head awhile. She takes a few steps backwards, trying to get away from Peter as much as possible in the situation she's in.

“I think you do,” Peter says. “So here's what we're going to do: you admit that you have possession over Stiles and stop it yourself...” Peter keeps a close eye on the girl's face, searching for any kind of sign that could reassure him about his theory. “...or you keep denying it and I'm finishing this myself.” It takes Barbara a few seconds to put everything together. Once she does, she shakes her head furiously.

“No, you wouldn't do that. You wouldn't kill anyone in the camp. You wouldn't–” Peter arches an eyebrow.

“I wouldn't?” he closes the gap that was set up between them by Barbara. “How would you know that?” Peter tilts his head to the side, his gaze is regretful in the worst and most threatening way. “I don't care that your parent usually helps mine. I'm a child of Ares, _what gives you the idea I wouldn't want to kill you right at the moment_?” he leans really closely into Barbara's space in an intimidating manner. Peter grabs the girl's neck and pulls out a knife from under his shirt. “I don't fucking give a shit about our parent's relationship as long as you're screwing with the life in _my_ camp.”

He moves his hand, that has the knife in it, to stab the metal into the girl, but Stiles tackles him down to the ground. The blade stopped just a few inches in front of him.

“Get the girl! Now!” Peter yells. Scott and Deaton grab her by the shoulders when she tries to get away. When she's dragged back to the middle of the circle, Derek arrives to the scene, too. His heart skips a beat when he recognizes Stiles leaning above the sharp blade. He runs for it and grabs a handful of Stiles' clothes to haul him off of Peter.

The second he's free, he beelines towards Barbara. Stiles is trashing in Derek's firm grip.

“I told you to quit possessing him yourself,” Peter says apologetically. “But you didn't. And apart from that, the only way to rid him of the possession is to kill the one who's taking control over his mind.”

“No, you're wrong, I'm not the–”

“The fact that Stiles showed up _just in time_ is enough proof for me,” Peter interrupts. “I don't need any more evidence.”

“SHIT, DON'T DO THAT!” Stiles exclaims, but the cold weapon is already surrounded by Barbara's warm insides and blood. Peter stabbed the knife right into her heart. She looks Peter in the eyes, gasps and coughs a few times before a modest trail of blood shows up in the corner of her mouth. Her lips are gaping and soon her legs are unable to keep her weight any longer, it resulting in her collapsing onto her knees. Stiles is still shouting and trashing. Barbara's body falls down and while laying, it twitches once or twice before going ultimately numb.

Suddenly Stiles' yelling is cut off and he falls into Derek's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for keeping you wait for so long, but I didn't exactly had the time to write. (And when I had I didn't just write this, but three other stories as well, because I have bunch of ideas for Sterek.)
> 
> I think I added a little drama into this chapter, too, but I like the pairing of drama and Sterek a little bit too much. ^^'
> 
> A little explanation for the ending: Eris is the goddess of feud and conflict, and she tends to set up quirks between gods and humans to help Ares have his fun.


	8. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' life after de-voiding him.

Stiles cannot open his eyes. He vaguely senses that he's lying on his back and some people are around him, but nothing more he can tell. He struggles to move his fingers.

The next thing he knows is that the house is completely silent around him, it allowing him to hear the casually heavy rain outside. He's freezing a little, as if his body was damp a bit. Behind his eyelids he sees a yellowish light which goes out the next second, followed by a dull clicking sound and a door closing.

He hears voices surrounding him again. This time he can catch some words out of the hurricane of them, but isn't really able to connect them together. They all may be said in various sentences, not in one, that could be the reason why they don't make sense together.

He wonders how many time passed between these scenes.

The sound of rain is surrounding him again. It soothes him in the best calming way, his heartbeat is slow and even. He feels it well all over his body – his chest, palms, ears, neck. The raindrops lull him.

His breathing is even. He can hear it. Or is it someone else's? He's not quite sure about the answer, so he focuses on the sounds. It takes about a minute (or more?) for Stiles to realize he's not alone. The other person is not talking at all. Then what are they doing? And why are they here? Stiles is freezing again.

He's still unable to open his eyes.

The utter weakness eats at him. His body is relaxed, and now he can feel the soft touch of the cotton fabric he's laying on. He wants to say something, to ask numerous questions, but he suspects he's alone again.

Really, _how many time passes without him realizing it_?

The next time he's aware of his environment he hears familiar voices. They are talking at each other. A boy and a girl? Maybe. He can only make guesses.

The area is completely silent again, apart from the rain outdoors. He wants to be there, wants to be soaked by it. Then he realizes his body is damp again. Why is his body damp once and then dry the next time he's conscious? He's wondering, thinking of a few possibilities. At least he knows he had been freezing when his body was wet.

His body is dry.

In and out.

He feels a soft fabric sliding over his skin delicately. It's wet. Could it be that... someone is taking care of him? Someone is actually _washing_ his body? Could this be the reason why his body had been varying between being dry and damp for the rest of the time?

Stiles' mouth opens slowly. The procedure takes him an infinitive struggle to do. However, he can't yet open his eyes. His mouth is gaping for a while, then he closes it again.

He feels a big warm palm over his hand. A thumb is stroking his pale skin gently, that is a little colder than it should be. Stiles can sense something in this gesture – _hope_? Maybe. He's not sure. He cannot be sure of anything at the moment.

His body is wet again and he can see darkness behind his eyelids. At least he knows it's after nightfall. The rain is still audible through the walls.

He really needs to eat something. Can't they hear his stomach growling? Can't anyone hear it? He wants to scream to all of those around him, but he's not capable of doing so. Not yet.

Still, his throat is dry. He tries to swallow hard to ease up the sharp feeling present in his gullet, but his saliva is not enough. The sound of raindrops – _water_ drops – are torturing him now.

However, the sweet scent has sneaked around him and it soothes him asleep.

Next time he hears voices, he recognizes them. One is Scott's, the other belongs to Allison and the third is... Malia's? Yes, it's definitely hers. He faintly registers that Isaac is present somewhere near here, too.

But _where_ is that ominous 'here'?

He feels that fabric sliding on his skin again. He tries to open his eyes, but they are sticked together too hard to tear them away from each other. It's the same when you wake from a tight slumber and your eyelids are rebelling against letting go of each other. So Stiles goes for an attempt to open his mouth again. He feels the way his modestly sticked-together lips part slowly, it allowing more air into his lungs. Just a little more.

And the fabric stops moving.

For some reason, he's concerned that someone is looking at him. At his face. He tries to move his mouth, but can't really do much about the numbness he feels. It's practically invaded his whole body.

He hears water flowing, then he feels something soft pressing against his lips. Then a cold fluid spreads all over his mouth and he swallows it gratefully for the other. The fabric is still on his upper arm where the person left it. It starts moving again in a little while.

Stiles fishes some words out of all the sentences he hears. It takes him a little while, but eventually he puts them together so he realizes they are talking about him. They are worried whether if he's going to wake up again or not.

_I'm awake!_

He wants to scream and shout, but he can't. Still can't. It's driving him crazy.

Rain. Water. Dry gullet. Sweet scent of rain sneaking around all over Stiles. It's lulling him eventually.

Then a deep, almost rumbling-like whispering murmur drags him conscious.

“Come back to me. Come back to me, please.”

“Derek!” Stiles' eyes fly open and he practically jumps into a sitting position. For a second, he can see the other, even feel his huge palm covering his fingers, but when he wants to squeeze it, he only squeezes empty air. He raises his hand and looks at it, curling his fingers a few times as if he didn't believe they were his.

Then he drops both of his hands back down on the bed, supporting himself, while he scans his gaze over the environment through the darkness.

His cottage.

He's been in his own house for this whole time. It's funny and yet, a little awkward how he's unable to bring himself call it 'home' after living here for such a long time.

Stiles glances down at his body. It's wet again, and the warm touch of Derek's palm still lingers on his hand.

What happened? How long has he been unconscious?

~

In the morning his first visitor arrives.

“Stiles, you're awake?” Malia asks. She runs straightly to his bed and pulls him into a tight hug. “I was so worried! Are you all right? We thought you'd never wake up again.”

“What?” Stiles manages to croak out. “How long have I been unconscious? Who took care of me?” Malia's excitement seems to drop at those questions.

“For four whole days,” she responds. “We were so worried you fell into a coma or something. You didn't give us any sign of you being alive apart from your heartbeat and breathing which were also as weak as possible. You were barely alive during the whole time.”

“What are you talking about? I moved my fingers!” Stiles frowns.

“You didn't! Not even once,” she shakes her head. “There was a time we even thought you were dead.”

A short period of silence follows that statement. Then Stiles speaks up again.

“You missed a question.” Malia looks at him with a confused face. “Who took care of me?” She shrugs.

“I have no idea. Whenever I came here to wash your body you were clean already. That person must have done it during the night.”

_Derek?_

It definitely must have been Derek. Vaguely, but Stiles does remember once someone was stroking his hand with their thumb. And the individual's hand was as warm and big as Derek's. Also, his body was damp that time.

Or it wasn't?

He can be wrong. Actually, the chance for that is too huge. Much huger than for the opposite choice. After all, his unconscious state hardly allowed him to be completely aware of anything. He couldn't even sense time passing by, he's not even sure when was he fully awake and not half-conscious. Maybe he's confusing two scenarios together.

And again, he's dying to ask if Derek came, but obviously, he can't do that. That would be too weird for Malia. So instead of that, he goes with another phrase.

“Who visited me?”

“I'd always been here from the mornings until nightfall. Apart from me Scott, Allison, Susan, Isaac, Boyd and Deaton came.”

For some reason this sentence is practically functioning as a hypothetical knife stabbed right into Stiles' gut. So Derek _never_ came after all.

Why did he hear his voice, then?

He heard it back then, just before he awakened. He even _saw_ Derek. Maybe it was only a vivid dream of his or the subconscious part of his brain playing a nasty joke with him. After all, your subconscious part knows everything about you – even your _desires_.

Stiles rubs his palm against his forehead as if he could rid his head from these thoughts completely. Of course Derek didn't come. He shouldn't be so surprised after all the things he did and said to him.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?” he shakes his head when he realizes he was asked a question by Malia.

“I asked if you could remember anything.” The way she says that clearly tells Stiles she didn't ask it just once or twice before. The boy thinks of it for a while, trying to jog his memory for anything useful, but it stays blank.

“I don't.”

“We'll need your memories, though. Do you even remember Barbara?” Stiles furrows his eyebrows at her.

“You mean the girl who kissed me?” Malia's expression momentarily turns into a mixture of anger and jealousy before fixing her mimics.

“Yes,” she nods. “Peter said she needed physical contact with the individual she wanted to possess.”

“Then she could have just held my hand, man,” Stiles whines before wiping his mouth frantically. Malia is watching him for a while before adding.

“Peter also told us that physical contact must be intimate.”

Stiles scowls and huffs in annoyance.

“Well, a hug is intimate enough, too,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. Malia chuckles then motions towards Stiles' wardrobe.

“Get dressed. Peter wants to see you.”

Stiles politely shoos Malia out of his house to get ready. For some reason it feels weird to change clothes with her in the place when it feels so utterly natural to let Derek stay with him. Stiles puts on his knee-length pants and a T-shirt with his running shoes. Before leaving the cottage he considers taking his Adderall for the first time in a long time in order to jog his memory – and he ends up swallowing the pill.

The rain is slamming against the forest floor, hammering on all the leaves of the trees. When did it switch to rain so heavily?

“Come, this way,” Malia says, as if Stiles didn't know where they have to go. They dash through the woods, watching every step they take not to slip and fall off or roll down on the side of the hill. A glimpse of a thunder catches Stiles' attention lighting up somewhere above the trees.

“How long has it been raining?” he asks. He needs to raise his voice a little to make it audible for the girl.

“Since you passed out. It started not too long after your blackout.”

And that's all the conversation they have until they arrive to Peter's place. Everyone's there already, the only exception is Derek. It makes Stiles upset – to be honest, he was kinda hoping the guy would show up at least here. They wouldn't even have had to be alone together. Just seeing him would have been enough, really.

“He doesn't remember much,” Malia states when the door is closed behind them. Peter's eyes dart at Stiles the moment he hears that.

“You don't?” he asks, his voice quiet and calm. Stiles shakes his head, swallowing once.

“No,” he outstretches his hands, as if showing he's helpless at it. “Nothing at all. But I know my memories are needed, so I took Adderall today.”

“Good,” is everything Peter says, it followed by a nod. “Let us help you with asking you a few questions.”

“Alright.” Stiles is totally up for this challenge. He greets his teammates and the investigators with a smile and a momentary arch of both of his eyebrows, then he pulls out a chair for himself and sits down.

“How did she earn possession over you?”

“All I remember is that she kissed me,” Stiles answers.

“Do you remember anything that happened while she had control over you?”

“Vaguely, but yes.”

“What is it that you remember?”

“The only thing I know for sure is that I was ruining Derek's life here. I know I had been telling lies about him to everyone and I hurt him. But other than that, I can't remember any details.” He saves that part where he spent a little period of time with Derek at the cliff.

“Not even what you were saying?” Peter arches an eyebrow. Stiles licks his lips while considering the answer, then ends up shaking his head.

“Not at all.” Peter acknowledges this with another nod of his. He paces to the chair Stiles is sitting in, and props himself on the two elbow rests of the furniture. It results in him leaning too much into the teenager's space while digging his eyes deeply into the boy's, locking them together so he won't look away. Peter speaks up, his voice low and he pronounces the words slowly.

“You were gossiping about him being responsible for the homicidal attempts.”

“What?” Stiles' eyes widen, his voice is full of disbelief. “But he obviously didn't! He's been hanging out with us all the time, he got hurt like everyone else and he obviously would never do something like that. Ever.” Stiles' leg is bouncing up and down fast on the floor, thanks to his anxiety and Adderall.

“We know it. But everyone in the camp believed you, because you're a child of the goddess of wisdom, a part of the investigator group and the person Derek let closest to himself.”

Something flashes into Stiles' mind for a second.

His gaze loses Peter's and he just stares at nothing in particular, forcing himself to focus on the piece of memory so he won't lose it entirely. He jumps up suddenly as the chair makes a loud noise when it falls on the floor. Stiles ignores Peter's questions about what is going on with him and just takes another Adderall. He's fidgeting with his fingers and his leg is still bouncing, even though he's standing now. The next moment, he even starts walking around in the room. Everyone else's eyes are scanning him, curious and awaiting for what he has to say.

“It's much more complicated,” Stiles says at last. “Much more complicated than we thought it was. It wasn't just me or Derek.” He takes two more pills. After a few more minutes, he continues. “It wasn't Barbara's choice. I vaguely remember her telling me something about somebody else ordering her.”

Everyone in the room hisses.

“She was ordered to use me because of the exact same reasons you counted,” he points at Peter, however, his eyes are still fixed on the floor and he's not stopping for even one second. “I was the best target she... _they_ could use. I'm just not really sure why.”

His words' result is a general confusion among the others.

“What?” Peter croaks out.

“Give me time to think,” Stiles shushes him, seemingly forgetting he's shushing the _leader_ – who's also a child of Ares.

However, Peter only opens his arms and nods before he heads back to the others to silently discuss everything they've heard so far from the teenager. They are mumbling their thoughts to each other silently until Stiles speaks up again.

“Now it makes sense.”

They all look at him.

“It makes sense? What is?” Susan asks, urging him to give an explanation.

“This whole thing,” Stiles looks at them and takes two more Adderalls. “This person, whoever it is, has a target in this camp. I can only suspect it has something to do with Derek if not he himself is the target. But apart from this, everything makes sense: the attacks, the possession, everything.”

“Would you mind sharing it with us, then?” Peter asks, his voice sarcastic. Stiles makes a face at him, then grabs a paper and a pen and starts writing. He puts Kira's name on it.

“The amazons came for Kira, right?” Stiles gets a nod from everyone. He writes down the amazons and Zeus' name. “If I'm right, they came for her because she's powerful enough to protect whatever the person's target would be.”

“That's right,” Susan nods.

“So they only wanted to take her to bring their aim easier and closer to themselves?” Isaac asks. Stiles and Susan assure him with a nod.

“The other attacks were either for the same reason – which is to get rid of Kira – or for something else, like trying to do their job anyway, be it with Kira around or not.”

“So you think they wanted to take someone from the camp?” Deaton asks. Stiles nods.

“I hate to say this, but this is where _I_ come in the picture,” Stiles says, making a face awhile.

“Wait,” Peter interrupts. “You're saying that _Derek_ is the target after all?” Stiles nods.

“It would explain why I was chosen to be possessed.”

“Indeed,” Malia agrees. Peter's eyes dart at her determined face. The leader exhales a long breath.

“Why would he be a target?”

“I- I don't know yet, okay? I'm not omniscient, sorry to upset you.” Peter gives him a flat look as a response to that comment.

“What do we do now, then?” Allison asks.

“Get armored,” Peter responds. “And find the asshole.”

~

Stiles has a chance to go back to his house just a little while before nightfall. Peter kept them all at his place for a very long time. Erica even brought food for them and her presence was really helpful. It enhanced their minds, making them running at full speed – it also only added to the amount of Adderall Stiles had taken before.

He opens his door only to scream in surprise when he recognizes a dark shape sitting on his bed and looking at him.

“Oh my God, you scared the living shit out of me, dude,” he says, then realizes he shouldn't use such a harsh language toward Derek. He should rather apologize. “Hey man, I'm sorry. Really sorry for all that happened. I- I didn't mean anything I said–”

“I don't care about what you said or did while you were possessed,” Derek interrupts. “Didn't you realize it?” For some reason, his voice sounds a little pained by the fact Stiles being ignorant to it. Stiles slowly takes a few steps to approach his bed where the guy is. “I never once was angry at you.”

“Good to know,” Stiles says. He stops in front of Derek, considering whether if he should sit down or not, but Derek beats him to deciding about it by grabbing his wrist and pulling him into his lap. His legs are on each side of Derek's hips, so he's straddling the guy and is kneeling on his bed. “I, uh,” Stiles manages to whisper, but Derek's intense, curious and awaiting gaze sticks the words to his throat.

Awkward silence floats in between them. Stiles doesn't know what he wants to say or how to put it. In fact, he wants to say so much he needs time to organize his thoughts first. Moreso, build up a conversation somehow, which he does in his style; talking about a random topic to ease up the atmosphere.

“You know, the sound of rains soothes me. It used to lull me asleep.” This is the first thing that comes to his mind, since it's still raining outdoors and he considers it's a personal information to show Derek he can be trusted now and he doesn't just want a tiny meaningless chit-chat about a light topic. Derek's response makes it clear for Stiles that the guy got the hint.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Okay, so first of all, I recall I told you something about taking advantage of me, right?” Derek nods. “Good thing I took a few Adderalls,” Stiles mumbles to himself before he raises the volume of his tone again to a casual one which Derek will hear, too. “I want to apologize for those comments. I kinda know the kiss wasn't anything like that, so,” he cuts off the sentence and peeks up at Derek through his eyelashes. His ridiculously long and beautiful eyelashes that Derek loves. Stiles can feel Derek's hands curling around his hips and pulling him up closer. Their noses almost touch. As Derek is moving him on his thighs, Stiles makes a modest wheezing sound, it urging Derek's lips to part instinctively. “I also want to ask if– oh holy _shit,_ ” Stiles trails off when he feels Derek's hungry lips working on the skin of his neck impatiently, leaving a trail of hot little kisses. Stiles' mouth gapes and he shuts his eyes tightly, his hands grabbing a handful of Derek's shirt. Seems like marking is seriously a part of Derek's overly territorial nature.

“Yes?” Derek asks in a whisper, his mouth right next to Stiles' ear.

“Jerk,” Stiles whimpers and makes a sulky face at Derek, who just grins and responds to that nickname with one of his own.

“Bitch.” It makes Stiles laugh shortly before putting his forehead against Derek's.

“There is something else I want to ask,” he says. His hands starts wondering around the other guy's body.

“Go ahead,” Derek urges, his hands responding to Stiles' touch on him by gently rubbing the teenager's skin under his T-shirt, still holding him close.

“Did you visit me when I was passed out?”

Before Derek could answer, there's a knock on the door, which makes Stiles to jump up and out of Derek's embrace. He hides his neck with a scarf then goes to the door. When he opens it he sees Malia standing in the doorway, smiling.

“Hey, boy,” she greets him, then her eyebrows furrow when her eyes drop lower. “Why do you have a scarf?”

“I was just...” Stiles shrugs and scratches the side of his nose as he's thinking about an appropriate excuse for an answer. “It was just chilly.” Before reacting, Malia registers that someone else is there, too.

“Derek? What are you doing here?” Before Stiles had a chance to respond, Derek stands up and heads towards the door as well.

“He just apologized for his behavior from earlier.” And with that, he passes both Malia and Stiles, not looking back at the house even once. Stiles bites his bottom lip.

He knows it's screwed up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the beginning is a little confusing, but that's how I wanted to write it because this way it reflects how Stiles felt when being in that subconscious state of his.
> 
> Let me know if you noticed any mistakes, mistypes or anything about this chapter. All faults belong to me. ^^


	9. Disposable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is _all about Sterek_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed, all mistakes belong to me.
> 
> I'm so sorry for making you wait for so long, but I hope you'll be satisfied with this chapter and will forgive me for not updating.

The next day is awkward.

Awkward, yes, in a way Stiles feels like his life is a complete and utter mess, where everything is reversed and upside down. Because let's face it: Derek is absent from their trainings, and even if he's around he tries so hard not to pay the least attention to Stiles, instead of the actual person Stiles wants (who happens to be Derek) Malia is paying him a visit every single night to check if he's still okay, Malia is the one spending the entire day with him, and Scott and Allison are officially a couple now, which is, okay, not weird, he's been waiting for it to happen, in fact, there are just too many of the changes now. And sadly, most of them is unpleasant.

Despite Derek's behavior, he forces himself to concentrate on the duties those are important – for example, to find an evidence, _any_ evidence that would lead their investigator group to the individual who actually set up all those homicidal attacks, which is, by the way, his most important priority at the moment.

Not Derek. No, not at all.

What he needs is _focus_. Focus on all the things he could do to protect everyone. And focus to quit being a selfish jerk, as he calls himself whenever his mind begins wondering for answers how he should – or could – approach Derek.

He has also surrendered to his addiction towards Adderall, he admits.

“That's all for today. And remember; keep your eyes open,” Peter reminds their little group which grew bigger by earning a few new members – the champions of the Olympic games. Of course, as a result, Derek is a member as well, it's just he hardly ever shows up. He's basically communicating with them through his uncle, and takes part in their discussions physically once in a blue moon when it's really important.

Otherwise, he's avoiding Stiles.

It's something Stiles is getting used to. It's not the first time it happened, anyway, so he will live. Yeah, sure, he's cool with it. Totally. Hopefully. Okay, maybe he _is_ having a hard time, but that's not something he would tell anyone about. Especially because the most fitting person for that is Scott, but he's happy with Allison now and who is Stiles to ruin that for him?

So eventually he ends up shutting his mouth.

It's also something that's usual for Stiles. He never shuts up, however, when it comes to having a heart-to-heart conversation with someone about _his_ problems, fears and doubts, he never says a word, simply because he's that much of a martyr that he doesn't want to concern anyone with his issues, partly because they have their own and partly because his problems are not that much of a big problems to have a chat about them, anyway, let alone to make anyone worry for him.

Stiles doesn't like it when others are worried about him.

This is why he's always acting so carefree and loud and enthusiastic and sarcastic – it's the perfect method for him to cover up the struggle and stress built up inside him. This way everyone thinks everything is okay with him and he can continue helping the people around him without being worried for.

Stiles approaches his house and shoves himself on his bed. He's staring up at the ceiling with all kinds of thoughts invading his mind. Most of them is about Derek (like, the 95 percent of them, at least), and the remaining five percent is split between Malia, the case, Scott and Allison's relationship and everything in general.

He's having a hard time dealing with Malia – because he can't just tell her not to visit him anymore, though he's well aware she's the reason why Derek is acting in his 'I don't care about you' way towards him again. Because he's jealous. Fucking _jealous_ and yet, he's doing nothing to get Stiles back. Really? Is this really the Derek he got to know during this whole time he's spent here at the camp? Okay, it's not like Derek has to get him back from anyone, because clearly Stiles is not a couple with Malia, but still. Derek should do something. At least show affection instead of jealousy.

Coming to this revelation, Stiles gets disappointed in himself. He's always thought about himself being a great analyst, and thus being able to read others pretty well and easily, yet now he's proven otherwise – up until now he thought Derek would fight for something he wants to claim, but this whole scenario says the opposite, because instead of that so-called fight he surrendered himself.

But then another option comes to Stiles' mind. He hasn't thought about it, maybe because he was too afraid of the possible answers to that question, or, that of a matter, it could also be true after all.

_What if Derek doesn't want him?_

It would make sense. He clearly has a furious fighter personality under the calm, cold and grumpy surface. Also, those little moments when he _seemed_ to be attracted can also be explained with simple sexual tension. Maybe Derek was too frisky and horny, maybe he just wanted someone to have a good time with, maybe he just wanted to experience what it is like with a guy, maybe–

And okay, Stiles really needs to cut off that trail of thought, because honestly, he doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that it could be potential truth.

But if it's not the truth? If Derek _is_ attracted to him?

Oh, now that's something Stiles would love to think about. He's sure he would lose all of his virgin boundaries (because yes, he's still a virgin, okay, and he's proud of it in a way, in really weird way), and he would let Derek do anything to him if not he would be the one to do all the work. He imagines what it would feel like to penetrate Derek, to move in him and–

That is just not right. That doesn't seem right. Derek's body is way bigger than his, has more muscles and as a result, he's more masculine than Stiles is, thank you very much. So let's try that again, from another angle.

An angle that works better for Stiles.

He has to admit, that for some reason he enjoys it better if Derek is on top and he's at the bottom. Stiles has no idea why he likes this thought better, shaming all of his manly pride, because he's still a guy. And a guy should be topping... right? He thinks he's right. Though he has zero experience in this topic apart from his own hand and a sock included on his better days when he didn't forget about it.

His imagination wanders to dangerous territory – what it would feel like if Derek grabbed his hips and shoved him up against the wall. Or maybe a door, let's say after they both entered his cottage and he's messing with the lock, but Derek is too impatient and just groans – no, _growls_ because it's hotter –, and starts to kiss him furiously, even sneaking his hands under Stiles' shirt and their hips finding each other in a rough collision and – _oh_.

Okay, that's definitely a boner there.

Stiles forces his mind to make a quick time travel and focus on his Biology teacher who literally looked like a witch with a huge hairy mole on her nose. (And really, that mole was just the beginning.)

But the bulge is still firmly under his pants and doesn't seem to have in mind to disappear.

It may be because Stiles' mind chooses to line up a bunch of other scenes with him and Derek – they have a picnic at night that turns out to be more than a simple picnic, having a late-night swim at the lake (which, coming to think of it, would be actually possible to do), doing it on Derek's desk in his office if he was a business man or a police officer and that last one makes Stiles' skin grow goosebumps. He had no idea he had something for men in uniforms or suits. Or maybe he has something for _Derek_ in uniforms and suits.

Who knows which option is right. Stiles honestly doesn't want to know, at least not when Derek is doing his best to don't give a shit about him.

That last thought turns out to be a perfect boner killer.

Stiles hauls himself off of his bed and changes to his red tracksuit. It's a chilly night out there and really, the only thing he misses right now is a basket because for some reason he clearly feels like Little Red Riding Hood. Maybe because he uses Derek as a metaphor for wolf. Maybe because in his mind he connected Derek's nature with a wolf's.

He curses under his breath and shoos this out of his mind. His favorite animals have been wolves ever since he's known his mind and known about their presence. He was totally fascinated by those animals' fur, eyes, bone structure, abilities, senses, and skills. Even if they are the most feared predators of lands.

Stiles leaves his cottage and goes for a run. When he's five minutes in he needs to take off his sweatshirt, leaving him merely in his white T-shirt. His lungs really appreciate the fresh air, just as much as his body appreciates the workout. This way Stiles can effectively get rid of his extra energy buzzing within him (for which he partly has to say thanks to his Adderall).

He runs until his body feels sour by it, then takes his time to patiently wash himself in the lake. His body changes to relaxed from being all tensed up. Stiles stays in the water until his body starts freezing, then migrates back to his house to lay down and stretch all over his bed at last. Maybe he will be able to fall asleep now.

~

Stiles is awoken by the harsh sound of his door being burst open. He jumps up with a brief scream out of surprise, and really, Stiles hates surprises right now. For all he knows, he should try to figure out who came to visit him so nicely at the middle of the night. He focuses his eyes on the dark shape, trying to catch any characteristic of the individual, but unable to do so, it preventing him from recognizing who it is. However, the person betrays his incognito when he speaks.

“I'm not handing you over to her just like that.” His voice is low, threatening even, and it's the only thing Stiles needs to realize it's nobody but Derek standing in his doorway.

Before Stiles could react in any way, Derek bridges the distance between him and Stiles' bed with three firm steps. Stiles' brain must have been really dull for not knowing it was Derek the first moment he looked at his late-night visitor. (Because honestly, who else has such impressive sculpted shoulders in this demigod camp? Stiles makes a mental note for himself that Derek's being and characteristics are just simply too obvious for anyone to be ignorant to them.)

Stiles manages to croak out a confused and weak “what?” in a really tiny, quiet voice before his mind registers Derek's lips are devouring his, and okay, this is far better than his imagination, and you know what, just screw the office desk scene with Derek wearing a suit, because reality is far better than imagination. Because nothing can replace what he experiences with his body, not even the vividest imagination ever nor any sock on the world.

Stiles' mind is spinning already, so he honestly has no idea what will happen to him later. Maybe he will be in need of a pacemaker. Or a resurrection. Anything is possible, really. And all it takes is Derek topping him, it would seem.

Stiles can't help but let an impossibly high-pitched whine at the back of his throat to come to life. It turns out, though, that it was better for that little sound to escape, because it is obviously driving Derek nuts, it gaining evidence by the way he presses Stiles' slender-muscled body deeper and further into the mattress.

Their kiss is nothing like any of their previous ones experienced. It's full of teeth, saliva, tongue and it's just too hot. It makes Stiles' mind swim and even he's too embarrassed to think about what this whole thing looks like from an outsider's point of view, and if _Stiles_ finds it embarrassing, then it clearly means _something_ , just to clarify.

Stiles is not sure whether if all the breathy moans belong to him or some part of it is Derek's, but he truly doesn't care, because how could he possible care about such _unimportant_ things when Derek's chanting his hips fiercely down into his like he was desperate (maybe he _is_ desperate, actually, if Stiles tries and thinks about it with a clear head, which he is clearly lack of right now) and he was dying and this is the last and only thing he wanted to do before saying goodbye to this material world.

“Derek,” Stiles breathes out when their lips part. When he manages to catch a glimpse of Derek's face he sees nothing but darkened eyes and dilated pupils, a pair of parted lips and _oh God_ he's never seen those adorable bunny teeth from so close before, though it's not his first time kissing this man of a God. No wonder why he's the Adonis of the camp and not someone else.

“Shut up,” Derek says in a thick and lustful voice and okay, that's not just enough, but even way too much for Stiles to re-earn a boner. He even lets out a moan just by hearing the other's voice, and when Derek's soft, yet now swollen and red lips connect with his especially sensitive skin on his neck, he practically manages to fucking _whine_ , which causes him to flush into several shades of red, one is darker than the other. Because he's still a guy and that wasn't too masculine. But who he wants to lie to? He wants to be the passive one in this scenario and he wants Derek so desperately to dominate him, right?

The most definitely _right_.

“Derek, I swear to God if you stop right now, I'm killing you,” he threatens, but he's sure it doesn't mean so much to Derek as a threat since his voice is really, utterly weak and even shakes at the end of the sentence thanks to Derek, the fucker, who doesn't even try to take him seriously. Instead, he has his fun by making Stiles whine again by palming him through his tight boxer briefs with his lips sucking on his sensitive area of skin under his ear. Stiles instinctively tilts his head to the side to open himself up to Derek and give him more room to do magic on his skin.

His hands find their way to Derek's leather jacket and impatiently try to shove it off, though Stiles is not really proud of his virgin self because he needs Derek's aid to manage it. Stiles now has a chance to finally look up and down on this literal Adonis kneeling above him. This Adonis is wearing noting but a light gray henley and black jeans, and Stiles thinks it shouldn't be the most arousing choice of clothes, but it is for him right now. In fact, he would find _anything_ arousing if it was worn by Derek.

Especially a uniform or a suit.

Stiles doesn't take a long time to respond to Derek's previous eagerness. His hands quickly fly to touch tough muscles through the soft fabric. Derek's lips part at the touch and he unconsciously pushes his body into Stiles' touch, it making Stiles swallow hard. Has anyone been this eager for him? He doesn't think so.

Stiles organizes his legs under himself and kneels up in front of Derek, his amber eyes never leaving Derek's green ones, not even once. Derek places his hands on each side of Stiles' hips and starts his assault of kisses again against Stiles' collarbone that's available in between the two lines of the V of the neck of his T-shirt. Stiles tilts his head back without even thinking about it, but before he would lose the rest of his sense, he orders his hands to grip the hem of Derek's shirt and lift it upwards. Derek reluctantly volunteers to help Stiles get rid of that piece of clothing, then before it even arrives to the ground he reaches for Stiles' as well, and gets rid of that, too. Now both of them is half naked, and that pair of jeans is really disturbing Stiles' eyes.

“Take those off,” he orders Derek, who teasingly raises an eyebrow with a crooked smile, as if asking 'are you seriously expecting me to do it myself?', remaining unmoving. Stiles puts on a sulky scowl, but then something comes to his mind and smirks mischievously. Before Derek could say or do anything he jumps off his bed and stretches with his back facing Derek on purpose. “If not then I think I'll just go and take a walk or somethin',” he teases and sends a wink towards his bed over his shoulder.

“You're not going anywhere,” comes Derek's slightly threatening voice from behind him, but it doesn't prevent him from stopping. He doesn't even consider stopping, in fact. He wants to take his time to tease Derek, because he can.

And because Derek deserves it, because he's so not letting Derek get away with never taking him seriously.

“Oh yeah? Prove me wrong,” he challenges and there it comes, Derek is pinning him against the wall already. He lets out a heavy breath as he's pushed strongly against the wood.

“I said,” Derek speaks up, his voice is hardly higher than a low whisper and his hot tickling breath washes over Stiles' heated skin on his neck and ears. “that you're not going _anywhere_.”

Stiles wants to come up with something witty, but his mind runs entirely blank and out of service when he feels Derek's fingers rubbing his entrance through his boxer briefs.

And he's done for it.

Despite the system error some of his brain cells are still working, it seems, because they order him to raise his ass and spread his legs so Derek has a better chance to please him.

Stiles is lost. Lost in the heat Derek's body is radiating, in his own heated body, his enhanced heart rate, his moans, Derek's panting against his back and ears and oh God, it's all just too much with those clever fingers against him.

Especially because Derek stops for a few seconds, only to slide his hand into Stiles' briefs and– _Holy. Fucking. Shit._

The next thing Stiles knows is his head is tilted backwards with his face towards the ceiling, his mouth is widely open by a previous loud moan that torn his lips away from each other, several numbers of teeth sunk into the crook of his neck, Derek's boner is pressing against his ass, his leg is lifted up and pushed against the wall to give Derek more room to move his fingers inside him (which he's not quite sure if Derek did it or he did it himself instinctively). It hurts, because there is nothing covering those fingers, but _fuck_ he couldn't care less because it's hurting in the best possible way he would ever be capable of imagining. Especially when those two hit his prostate – then he loses it and grinds his hips against the wall, letting out a filthy moan. He doesn't care about anything anymore, not if someone decides to visit him right now, not if someone just passes by to pay the lake a visit, not if someone is watching or eavesdropping on them. He would say fuck you and ignore them.

There is just Derek and him, and that's all that matters to him.

Stiles can't really believe this is happening to him, but he makes a mental note that he and Derek must be on the same trail of thought because they agreed on their roles without having to actually discuss it. It lifts his spirits. It has to _mean something_.

His hips keep grinding against the wooden wall, desperately seeking release for this pleasure, creating a really nice friction for this matter. His mouth is gaping open and his nails are scraping the wall while Derek's tongue flickers out and starts caressing his sweaty skin and thus soothing the stinging bite mark.

“D-Derek,” Stiles manages to stutter out, his voice is a shaky wheezing mess. “Touch me. You have to,” he inhales a huge amount of breath as his dick twitches with anticipation. “You have to touch me.”

By the time he finishes talking, Derek's fingers are already curled around him and started to pump him mercilessly. Stiles says thanks to this action of his by resting his head on Derek's shoulder and leans backwards into the other's hot body, all of his sounds and curses directed right into Derek's ear.

Then a thumb finds Stiles' tip and starts to massage it, earning another impatient and fierce buck from Stiles' hips.

“Oh God, oh my _God_ ,” Stiles blurts out, totally lost in pleasure overwhelming him, and though his knees feel like jelly, he forces himself to stay stood, because really, he can't let himself lose control and embarrass himself in front of the man of his dreams. Because yes, Derek is everything he's ever wanted – gorgeous bone structure, an interesting personality (which is basically a mystery and Stiles loves mysteries), chemistry between them, someone whom he can crack jokes for, reliability and an everlasting interest towards each other.

The unbelievably amazing sex is a fortunate bonus.

He has to admit that Derek knows what he's doing, it even planting the thought in him that maybe it's not his first time with a guy. (But Stiles is pretty sure it's not Derek's first time _in general_. No, at least not with that body, is what it is.)

His trail of thought is cut off by an overpowering white orgasm. He's leaning boneless against Derek.

Maybe getting up and have a little chasing game wasn't his best idea today.

“Oh shit, Derek,” he mutters, his voice shaky and he's panting heavily. Derek slowly pulls his hands out from Stiles' briefs and fucking _licks_ them clean, and watching this scene sends another jolts of electricity down to Stiles' groin through the pooling warmness in his belly. Derek starts moving, to move away from Stiles' body, but he protests and blindly throws his arms backwards to wrap them around Derek's muscled bust, just in case. He rubs his ass against Derek's crotch, it urging the guy to let out a growl, a sound that Stiles favors the most, and pins Stiles' body back into the wall.

“You're driving me insane,” he mutters into Stiles' ear seductively before nipping on the top of it invitingly. He's panting feverishly, being too impatient for this scenario to go on. Thinking of all the possibilities makes his mind swing and cause him to lose more of his control. He wants Stiles. Here and now. And nothing nor nobody should dare to prevent him from taking what he claims his.

“I can help with that,” Stiles assures him, his voice promising. Promising something that will definitely be good for Derek.

It turns out to be _perfect_ for satisfying Derek's needs.

Stiles just knows what to do – when to nip him (just carefully, but still enough to make him jerk forward), when to lick him, when to tease him by sliding that obscene mouth of his off of him, leaving him in impatient anticipation. When Stiles starts blowing him again, Derek lets his head fall backwards and lets his mouth to let out all the colorful curses those cross his mind, really not giving a shit about having a filter or not.

Because it's Stiles kneeling in front of him and giving him a blowie.

Derek watches as Stiles' ridiculously long eyelashes embrace each other when the teenager closes his eyes and concentrates on what he's doing with his mouth wholeheartedly. Derek locks his long fingers into the other's dark strands of hair only to be surprised by the realization that Stiles _lets himself_. Derek bites his bottom lip at the inviting possibility it has within.

But no, he can't. He can't let himself get carried away.

Not even if Stiles' mouth is so warm, so wet, so perfectly tight around him and–

_Shit._

Now that he's aware of it, he can't get rid of the thought and he's so, so close. But Stiles is too fragile for that and he's also an eighteen-year-old teenager, for fuck's sake, who...

Who's just perfect at giving blowjobs.

Derek knows Stiles is still a virgin. The way the guy had no clue where to put his hands at first (nor when they were making out in the middle of the celebration that followed the Olympics) made it obvious. So Stiles is a virgin, but then how the Hell is he so good at this? And–

Okay, Derek can't take it any longer.

He has to ask.

“Stiles,” he croaks out, and the teenager stops and looks up at him with huge, innocent amber eyes.

“What is it?” he asks. “Did I do something wrong? If I did, then feel free to point it out, it's my first time giving a blowie, y'know so I can't guarantee I don't suck at it and okay, that word was really awkward to use in this context, but oh well,” he shrugs. “Anyway, point is, just tell me what you want me to do and you'll get it.”

Is this kid actually able to read minds? Derek bets he is.

“Can you,” he breathes out and closes his eyes firmly for a few seconds to concentrate on what he has to say and organize the sentence in his mind before speaking it out loudly. “Could you hold still?”

Stiles' eyes widen at that. He clearly got what Derek meant by that, and in a heartbeat, Derek regrets he even asked that question. But then Stiles nods and opens his mouth obediently, his eyes closing again. Derek is almost tossed over the edge by that sight simply, but he manages to hold it back. He puts his hands on the two sides of Stiles' head before beginning to fuck his mouth. He makes sure he doesn't get carried away, even when it's so hard to bound himself and the beast within, because it's _Stiles_.

Stiles kneeling in front of him, Stiles being submissive, Stiles letting him to fuck his mouth and–

Oh God.

He whites out with a howl.

Derek releases Stiles right away. The teenager is coughing, but swallows everything down. There is a white trail flowing down on his chin, which Derek can't help but lick down, now cowering in front of the other. They look at each other in the eyes and Stiles _beams_ at him.

“Tell me we're not finished yet,” he says and Jesus, this kid really knows how to be seductive. Is he surely still a virgin?

“We're not finished yet,” Derek answers with what he hopes is an attractive half smile. Stiles furrows his eyebrows suspiciously.

“You said that because I asked you to, or because we really are not finished yet?” Derek's grin widens.

“You'll see.”

He picks Stiles up bridal style and walks back to the bed with him. He lays him down, now both of them less impatient about it, because they got their release before. Yet, it's still not enough. Derek is glad Stiles is not satisfied with that, and also Stiles is grateful that Derek still wants more.

“Yeah, um, do you have something to make you, uh,” he blushes in the cutest way Derek can imagine. And despite he knows exactly what Stiles wants to ask, he chooses to play with him a little and urge him to go on speaking.

“Something to...?” he smirks.

“You know what I want to ask, don't you, you jerk.” That comes out more as a statement than a question. Stiles makes an annoyed face at him which only makes Derek chuckle. He runs his lips up and down on the other's neck, taking his time to enjoy this moment, completely ignoring the guy's nervousness.

“Maybe,” he answers at last.

“You really are a jerk.”

“So?”

“So do you have or don't have?”

“Have what?” Derek can't help but grin even wider, if that's even possible.

“Something to make you,” Stiles starts to say, however, he ends up flushing red again. He takes a deep breath. “to make you slicker? Like, you know, lube, or if that's too much to ask, then oil or something, because back then it wasn't the most comfortable with your fingers, I have to say.” Derek stops and frowns. Stiles starts panicking and shakes his head, his hands flying up to gesture his denial. “No, don't get me wrong, I _loved_ that, it's just, you know, it would be better if you had lube on you.”

“I may or may not have,” Derek answers, clearly enjoying to tease the other.

“Okay, I'm getting fed up with those vague answers.”

“See it for yourself,” Derek nods towards his jacket, which is thankfully next to his bed, so he doesn't have to get up and walk to the wall where they had been before.

Derek props himself on his elbow as he's watching Stiles picking up his leather clothing apparel from the floor. After tapping all over it, Stiles fishes a little bottle out of it.

“You must have been sure something like this would happen,” Stiles states and Derek shrugs.

“I was just hoping.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles nods with disbelief before opening the bottle and holding it towards Derek, who... who just looks at him with a grin. Stiles frowns. “You have no idea how much I hate your guts,” he says, but pours some of the fluid on his hand anyway and reaches for Derek's cock to coat it in the lube.

Derek bites his lip and lets out an approving sound. “How do you want to do it?” Stiles' hand stops on him as he thinks about it.

“I don't know? I guess it's never mind as far as it's you who takes my virginity.”

Okay, it was enough teasing.

Derek grabs Stiles' forearms and shoves him against the mattress. He spreads Stiles' legs, and once they are on both sides of his waist, the boy wraps them around him and makes this needy, pleading noise which is just too much for Derek to take anymore. He does what he has to, locates himself in the best angle he can find then slowly starts pushing inside. He groans at how tight Stiles is and Stiles fucking _squeals_ at the sensation, and Derek is lost. 

Completely lost in Stiles.

And the last word is what makes him not to regret it nor hate the fact he can't think clearly, he lost all of his common sense, and he let his inner animal (beast?) to take control over his body. However, he's still struggling to keep it on a leash until Stiles opens his eyes, looks up at him and pleads.

“More, Derek, come on. I want you to take me.”

And Derek's bestiality breaks to the surface and starts thrusting into Stiles, who chases all his movements with his hips involuntarily after a while, after he got used to the rhythm Derek set. He scrapes at Derek's back, drawing a little blood, but with the pleasure and the adrenaline present within his body, Derek truly doesn't care. His priority right now is to earn another relief for both of them. He wants to hear Stiles' loud, filthy moan when he comes, and this time wants to feel him tighten around him as he does so. The thought almost pushes Derek over the edge, but he holds himself back, telling himself it's for their good.

It doesn't take too much for Stiles, though, to begin wheezing and close his eyes as he opens his neck up to Derek once more by tilting his head backwards, driven by the pleasure. His arms tighten around Derek's sculpted body and his legs hold his hips closer. Derek's face is now buried into the crook of Stiles' neck, and he moves it up just a bit so his face is next to Stiles'. For all he knows, he wants to claim Stiles' orgasm as fully his, so he locks their lips together in a passionate, heated kiss, which is cut off by Stiles' modest scream as both of them cum at the same time – Derek fills Stiles up right at the moment Stiles' insides squeeze him and shove him over the edge into an orgasm.

His body numbly falls onto Stiles' own, both of them panting and Stiles chuckling.

“This,” he starts, almost choking on the air by exhaustion. “This was so good.”

“It was,” Derek agrees, then collects enough strength to move his head in sake of stealing another kiss from Stiles. They are kissing patiently, taking their time, this time with no desperation involved. They are doing it for the sake of kissing, and both of them is acting as if it was the best possible thing to do in the world, and hey? Who says it isn't? Their intimacy is lit by the Moon that's almost full. It will only take two or maximum three more days for it.

“You ran off when I asked you something last time,” Stiles speaks up again, quietly, enjoying the sounds of the night and the faint waving of the lake. Derek frowns in confusion and starts to gently stroke Stiles' face in a soothing manner.

“What would that be?”

“Did you visit me when I was passed out?” A smile creeps its way onto Derek's lips.

“I did.” Stiles' face lights up at hearing that.

“I knew it!” Derek snickers.

“I came to visit you every night to wash your body.”

“But Malia would have done that anyway,” Stiles says, blinking up at Derek's face that turned annoyed in a split moment.

“Do you honestly think I would let her touch you?” The way Derek showed up tonight comes to Stiles' mind, the way he claimed he's not handing Stiles over to her so easily.

“No,” he answers.

“Close your eyes, Stiles,” Derek coos.

He leaves tender kisses on Stiles' eyelids and all over his face. It lulls Stiles asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have to admit that whenever I start writing something I have a fear it will turn out bad. If I'm proud of it (and only then) I continue to write it. Then the more I write the less proud I become and I always think I'm just screwing it up and I should have left it the way it was at the very beginning, because it was perfect then without my further interfere.  
> Now, I didn't do anything with this fic for quite a while, and I'm sorry about it. There was a period of time when I wasn't at home (economical kinda camp, don't ask), but the other reason of my absence is what I told you about in the previous paragraph.  
> Then this morning, during breakfast, I persuaded myself to re-read what I had written and I _liked it_. Miraculously, but I liked it. (Because I'm never proud enough with what I'm doing, be it a homework, a drawing, anything. My BFF can prove it, she's the living evidence on the face of Earth that I have this 'I'm never good enough' complex.) So I ordered myself to put my ass down and continue this story. (Really, thank it to my BFF too, because she encouraged me a lot, because I had a little mental breakdown yesterday I guess? I'm sure I was pissing her off like hell with my everlasting whining about how much I suck as an author.)  
>  And I guess that was enough of a heart-to-heart stuff. I'll update ASAP!  
> Be patient, now only one more chapter to go and the story ends! (The 11th one is going to be a bonus, full of Sterek. Think of it as an epilogue. But I'm going to write it with full of fluff and cuteness in it, because that's how I planned it like a month ago.)  
> I hope you liked this chapter (I really tried my best to make the sex scene hot and enjoyable, even though it turned out to be _way longer_ than I expected, maybe even too long) and I also hope you are waiting for the upcoming updates. :)
> 
> Also, the identity of Derek's godly parent is going to be uncovered in the 10th chapter finally.


	10. Sliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very last chapter. All the solutions, all the answers to your questions, everything revealed now. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and thriller can be found (at obvious parts), so if you don't like them, skip those parts. (Though violation is the key of this chapter.)

Modest refreshing knocking sounds can be heard from outdoors, joining in to their calm breathing.

Stiles and Derek are spooning—Derek's muscled arms surround and wrap Stiles up in a warm, protecting embrace of his. He's the first to wake up, and the first thing he sees is Stiles' hair. The teenager's sweet scent sneaks into his nose and he inhales that fragrance deeply into his lungs, making sure it's going to be burnt into his memory forever. He also doesn't want to forget this situation, ever.

Derek is so happy for last night he can't even interpret it. He's glad Stiles accepted him despite his previous pathetic and jealous behavior. After all, this is what he wanted for quite a while now, isn't it? He wanted to have a sleepover with this eighteen-year-old since they started to train together. (That was the reason he offered Stiles he'll train him in the first place, because he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible and he also knew that this way he won't need any excuses to touch Stiles. Sneaky way, okay, but it definitely worked for him.)

He can't wait for Stiles to wake up already, however, he's just found out that he also likes to take his time to just watch him in his tight slumber. Stiles is too adorable, is what it is. And nobody can persuade him of the opposite.

Derek lifts himself carefully, props himself on his elbow and his eyes find the window—it's raining outside. The drops are hammering against leaves and the ground, though only in a modest, soothing way.

Stiles mumbles something in low, raspy voice as he turns around and snuggles into Derek's warm body, his cheek nuzzling against Derek's chest.

Derek has never seen anything more stunning.

He has to hug Stiles close to himself, he has to protect him, he has to be his sanctuary, he has to give anything he's capable of giving to him. _He has to have him._

Then it strikes him—he _has_ Stiles now. Stiles gave his virginity to him yesterday, after all, right? And Stiles said...

Oh my God.

It sends jolts of electricity through Derek's body, even just thinking of it gives him goosebumps.

“It's never mind as far as it's you who takes my virginity.”

That is what Stiles said, word by word, it burnt into Derek's memory's deepest depths until the very end of time. That sentence is one of those which lifted Derek's spirits. And just to clarify, not a lot of sentences mean this much to him. Derek feels so alive next to Stiles.

Which leads to the conclusion that Stiles is amazing. This kid laying right next to him, in his embrace, this kid, whose fingers are gently pushing on his abs and chest, is a prodigy. Maybe not everyone can see it, but he is one marvelous being on this planetary for sure, and Derek is grateful that he happens to be that certain lucky bastard who can point at Stiles (maybe even pick him up like he did yesterday) and say “he's mine”.

His green gaze is fixed on his significant other, and yes, this is the moment Stiles decides is the best to wake up. He yawns, and he looks like a cute little kitty as he rubs his eyes, and Derek definitely needs a pacemaker, because seriously, this teenager is making his heart flutter and his heart rate faster.

“Mornin',” Stiles mumbles out with a clumsy, sleepy smile shining on his lips.

“Morning,” Derek answers and places a long kiss on Stiles' forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Are you seriously asking that? I hope that's rhetorical, because I've never felt better before in my life,” Stiles beams, and okay, Derek now knows that even if it's never going to end raining he has his personal Sun, so he truly doesn't care anymore (not even for the fact he's being selfish), because he's too happy. “My ass hurts a little, though.”

Derek chuckles. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't you dare apologize,” Stiles chides him playfully and grabs his chin to steal a kiss from him. Derek's hand wanders lower on Stiles' body, until it approaches his hip and massages the soft pale skin there before ending up wrapping around Stiles' fragile body in sake of holding him closer. Their bodies are pressed together, and it feels really nice, because the temperature is rather low (maybe between 15 and 20 degrees), and this way they are keeping each other warm.

Their kiss is slow and sloppy, the morning laziness shows in it. Once they break it, they eye each other for a while, stroking and cupping each other's cheeks, as if they couldn't believe it's reality, until Stiles' eyes widen and his head darts towards his balcony.

“Oh my God, it's raining,” he says, a wide smile already on his lips.

“You really love it when it's raining, don't you?”

“I do,” Stiles nods. “But you already know it. The sound of rain always soothes me and I love the smell of it. Oh by the way, did you know that the smell of rain is caused by various bacterias proliferating?”

Derek answers with an amused smile on his lips. “No.”

“I used to play a lot in the rain when I was little. My mother would always tell me to go back to the house, but I would always wear my wellingtons and everything, so I told her I'm not going back because they are meant to protect me from the rain.”

“Rationality, I see?” Derek asks, looking at Stiles and shaking his head in an 'I don't believe you' way. This guy is really not an ordinary one. Stiles chuckles and shrugs.

“Maybe,” he ends up saying. He squirms for a while on the sheets and under the blanket, then Derek questions him.

“You wanna see it?” Stiles looks up at him—and again, those huge, innocent amber eyes...

“I don't know,” he admits. “I want to get up to go to the balcony, but on the other hand I also want to stay in bed with you.”

“I can go with you,” Derek offers.

“But that's not the same. It's nice and warm in here, and even if we come back later, it's not going to be the same.” Derek thinks for a while.

“How about another night, then? We can spend as much time together as you want, and we can stay in bed for as long as you want. So we can get up now, you will lose nothing with it,” Derek promises, and oh my God, this man just knows what to say to make it easier for Stiles to make up his mind.

“Coolism,” he grins. “Thanks, babe,” he pecks Derek's lips before getting up. (Derek is definitely not watching his ass as he walks to his wardrobe.)

After Stiles puts on a new pair of boxer briefs, which are, _fuck_ , black, Derek starts getting dressed, too—getting dressed in terms of both of them staying half naked and having only a pair of pants on. Stiles goes to the balcony with Derek following him there. The air is chilly in a pleasant way, just enough to refresh anyone, and perfect as an excuse for Stiles to ask Derek to hug him (which Derek would have done anyway).

They are standing at the edge of the balcony. Derek is hugging Stiles from behind, their faces are next to each other, and Stiles' hands are placed on Derek's forearms. Stiles is leaning back into Derek's embrace. The two of them choose the exact same moment to put a quick kiss on the other's cheek, which results in them grinning and chuckling a little before kissing each other. One of Stiles' hands fly up to lock his fingers into Derek's dark strands of hair, while Derek tightens his arms around him.

Kissing each other is definitely the best possible thing to do on this world. Especially with cooling raindrops occasionally finding their skins and sliding down on it.

~

The breakfast is one of the bests Stiles has ever had, and he's one of the greatest gluttons known to mankind, okay, which means this meal is really something. He's sitting between Erica and Malia (latter pissing Derek, though he doesn't let it to be shown on his face) with Derek facing him on the opposite side of the table.

“Did you fall asleep easily last night after I left?” asks Malia, and fuck, Stiles almost revealed what happened actually. He and Derek agreed not to tell anyone about their relationship this morning, thinking it will be for everyone's good. Stiles can catch a glimpse of Derek hiding his involuntary half smile behind his hand, his eyes stubbornly fixed on his food in front of him.

“Yep,” Stiles ends up saying, because he _did_ fall asleep easily after Derek tired him out with that intense sex they had. The next second before he could do anything, like stopping himself, his mind travels back to last night; the way Derek pinned him to the wall, the feeling he got when he got bitten, when Derek thrust his fingers into him, or, better, his dick, and then... and then chairror started with all the chairs invading the Earth with his past witch Biology teacher being the leader, and just concentrate on that hideous hairy mole, okay, because it's so not cool to have a boner right now, in public, during breakfast. Derek must have recognized that something is up with Stiles, though, because there is playfulness in his green gaze that's observing Stiles' face. A concentrating face, as he's trying so desperately not to think about... about the temporarily forbidden _you-know-what_ topic.

“You took too much Adderall lately, and I'm just worried about you. It's not good to have insomnia,” Malia states and Stiles nods. Not like he didn't know that already.

“I know,” Stiles says, just to say something, really.

“I've been thinking,” Malia starts saying. This catches Derek's attention. He _knows_ it's going to be something about meeting up sometime alone. But no, he's not letting that happen. No, Stiles is _his_ now, so if she ever dares to lay a finger on him, he will do something that he will most likely regret later. Just to make sure that won't happen, his mind starts to search for something, _anything_ , really, to prevent her from asking whatever she wants to ask. “Would you like to—”

Thanks God, she's cut off.

Not thanks God for the actual reason why she's cut off.

“Derek, Stiles, Malia, come,” Susan says, panting by previous running. Even her face is flushed red. “We found an evidence.”

Stiles and Derek share a momentary look with each other before jumping up from the table and running off with Susan to Peter's house which is practically functioning as their HQ.

~

“Now that all of you is here, we can officially start our session,” speaks Peter. “Just to make sure all of you know it, we found an evidence that told us who the _real_ interpretor is.”

“And who is it?”

“Is that person in this camp?”

“Who's his godly parent?”

“Do we know him?”

A lot of questions are thrown on Peter, who shushes everyone with a wave of his hand.

“First of all, it's not 'him', but 'her',” he points out, earning a few shocked faces. “She used to be in this camp, but I had to relegate her.”

“What did she do?” Peter's eyes find Derek, who, according to his facial expression, knows who they are talking about already.

“She wanted to take Derek with her to the underworld in sake of staying together forever. Or whatever sick reason she had, I don't care.”

Stiles looks at Derek with a confused, disbelieving face. He mimics the words for Derek without making any sound.

“Did you really have a girlfriend like that?” Derek sighs deeply before nodding slowly. Stiles' jaw literally drops.

“Now everything makes sense,” Peter goes on. “Stiles was right that this whole scenario had a target—Derek. And this way every single piece of this puzzle fits together.”

“Indeed,” Susan nods. “Stiles is the one Derek let closest to himself, the only one he trusted, that's why he was chosen for the possession. She tried to kill some of us to make it easier for her to take Derek with herself, that's the reason behind all the attacks.”

“Where could she possibly be?” asks Stiles. Peter smirks.

“According to the fact she knows exactly what is going on in the camp, I think I know her location.”

“What is it?” Malia asks. Peter turns to face her.

“The gate to the underworld.”

~

After Peter's order to pack up for a tour, everyone hurries to their house to put everything important into a backpack. Stiles gets ready pretty fast, and he decides to visit Derek in the spare time he's left with. He approaches Derek's house in no time, and lets himself inside without knocking.

“Hey,” he says when Derek looks up from behind his bag.

“Hey,” Derek greets him back.

“Can I come in?” For some reason Stiles found it important to ask. Derek makes a face at him.

“Do you have to ask? Of course you can come in.” Stiles immediately goes for Derek's bed to lay down on it and cover himself in Derek's scent. There are a good three or four minutes of silence before Stiles cuts it off.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat, his eyes still following each of Derek's movements. “Do you feel uneasy about this?”

“Why would I feel uneasy?”

“That your psycho ex-girlfriend is still making attempts to get you.” That chases a laughter out of Derek's being.

“No,” he answers. “It rather pisses me off.”

“Why? Because she's not leaving you alone and doesn't mind her own business?”

“Because she's not leaving _us_ alone and doesn't mind her own business,” Derek says and stands. He bridges the distance between he and his bed, then leans down, his faces only inches away from Stiles'. “She should know better than to disturb me when I already have you.” His voice is a mere whisper before he locks his lips up with Stiles', who requites the kiss with all the passion he has within. His arms snake around Derek's neck to pull him closer.

After this, the kiss turns hotter and needier in a blink of an eye.

Derek climbs on the bed with a low growl rumbling somewhere in the back of his throat, it urging out a whine from Stiles. His legs are already wrapped around his hips, Derek realizes, and he immediately takes advantage of this situation by grinding his hips into Stiles' crotch, and dear God, he's hard already. Stiles lets out a breathy moan against Derek's mouth. They seriously need some time alone. The group is not going to leave, not without them. They have time. _They have to have time._

Derek has never been so desperate to be able to convince himself.

“Derek, please, if we don't do it now, I'm gonna kill you. Just a quick round,” Stiles pleads, his breathing messy already and his voice stuttering, and that's it, Derek can't think clearly anymore. If Stiles is asking so nicely for it, who he is to deny it from him?

~

An hour later they go to the wooden arch to meet up with the rest of the team. (Thankfully the two of them are not the last ones to arrive—it's Scott and Allison to come last.) Neither Peter nor Deaton is there, since they are in charge at the camp and can't just leave so easily with all of their duties and responsibilities sitting on their shoulders. Malia gives Stiles a few suspicious and uncomprehending looks, obviously wondering why is he _beaming_. Erica gifts them all with a meal she prepared for each of them, making sure to give their personal favorite for them. She also encourages them with a few words, hugs them, and allows them to leave only after she's done.

They have to walk through the whole forest. Nobody is wearing an armor, because it would be too heavy, but everyone has a weapon, which is a sword in most cases. Only Allison is carrying a bow and arrows.

Susan is at the front with Isaac. Peter gave her a map and explained her everything that needs to be known in connection with their target after everyone left. Behind them, Malia and Stiles are walking. Derek is not next to Stiles on purpose, but he's following right behind him. Closing the group, Scott and Allison are at the very back, holding each other's hands and having a chat which the most definitely includes Scott complimenting Allison's looks because she's giggling with pink cheeks.

“For how long do we have to walk?” asks Stiles.

“Since we left in the afternoon, we won't make it there today for sure,” Susan responds. Stiles acknowledges this with a resigned sigh.

He's also dying to talk to Derek, but the guy will kill him if he makes their relationship too obvious. But asking about this psycho ex-girlfriend wouldn't mean anything, right? It won't be too suspicious, right? It's natural that he wants to know everything about their target, and he doesn't want to ask about it from anyone but Derek, because it would be rude to ask about basically Derek's past love life from someone else, right? He thinks he's right.

“So, Derek,” he says, his speed winding down so he's walking next to the guy. “Can you tell me something about this girl?” Derek remains silent for a while, seemingly counting his choices and what would be the best to do, then ends up telling Stiles about the woman after all.

“Her name is Kate,” he says. “She's the daughter of Persephone. We had a relationship ages ago. I was too young and blunt, and she took advantage,” he shrugs. “Then I broke up with her, but after a while she got obsessed or something, I really don't want to know, and wanted to make sure no one else has the opportunity to lay a finger on me besides her.”

“Wow.” That's everything Stiles can say. “That was unintended.”

Derek shrugs. “Never mind now. I have my own life, and she should have hers, too. I'll even help her find it if needed.” Stiles presents him with a confused look, but Derek simply waves it off, making it obvious that he doesn't want to talk about this subject anymore.

~

At night they set up a small camp for themselves—also including lighting a campfire out of the branches they collected during the trip. They all sit down somewhere, some of them closer, some of them farer from the fire. Stiles and Derek are sitting next to each other (Stiles claimed he was freezing and Derek had not just an extra sweatshirt on him but also a plaid) and are holding hands (in terms of both of their hands are resting on the ground, but their fingers are knitted together), and thanks to the darkness, no one can see it.

“Who knows some great thriller stories?” asks Stiles.

“Do you honestly want to tell horror stories while we're alone at the woods _at night_?” refrains Scott, holding Allison closer to himself.

“Sure, why not?” Stiles shrugs.

“I don't think it's a bad idea,” Allison smiles at Stiles like a partner in crime. Stiles grins.

“Cool. So, which one do you want to hear first? The one about the motel, about the woods or about the hospital?” He sees Isaac opening his mouth, but he interjects quickly. “That's not everything I know, okay, just to clarify, I know a lot more than that, those are just shorter.”

“I think you can go with that order you set up,” Isaac offers.

“Well then, but let me tell you that these stories kick you in the gut if you get the point. So the story of the motel,” Stiles stays silent for a few seconds in sake of organizing his thoughts. “So a man goes to spend a few nights at a motel. He gets the keys of his room, but before he could leave, the concierge warns him not to go near room 13. He nods and goes to put his stuff down. A few days pass and the more time goes by, the more the man thinks about that certain room and the more curious he becomes. So he decides to visit. The door is closed, but that's nothing to prevent him from discovering what is so special in room 13. He peeks in through the keyhole to see a woman looking in the distance through the window, her back facing the door. The man is confused, he really doesn't get what is so awful in a room with a woman in it. He leaves, but returns the next day. This time, when he peeks in, he sees nothing but utter redness, as if someone put a cloth in front of the hole. Now he's even more confused and even more curious, so he goes and asks the concierge about the story of the room. He's told that a married couple died in that room. But that couple wasn't ordinary—their eyes were pure red.” Stiles stays silent, just for the dramatic effect. The others get the hint, one after another, as it is shown on their faces as well. Malia even shivers.

“That's horrible,” she says, and Stiles smirks.

“So, the next one.” While he's talking, Derek lets go of his hand and wraps both of them in the plaid he carried with himself. “A hunter gets lost in the forest at night. It's already twilight, and by the time he finds a shelter for himself, it's already turned dark. He found a little cottage for himself, where—”

He's cut off by Scott.

“I'm not sure I want to hear it.”

“But I do, go on speaking,” Susan says, urging Stiles to continue the story.

“So when he enters the house, he immediately notices all the paintings on the walls. They all depict angry faces and were painted to look like they are looking at the individual who steps inside. It makes the hunter feel uneasy, but eventually, he falls asleep. In the morning, he's awoken by the sunbeams those enter the tiny place through the windows.”

It takes a little longer for the others to realize what the point is in this story.

“Gosh, they weren't paintings, but the windows, right?” Allison asks, trying to clear up. Stiles nods.

“Do you still want to hear the third one?”

“Sure,” Susan says in an instant.

“All right then. This last one is about a surgeon who has a late-night operation. His client dies during the procedure, and he goes for the elevator to go down to his office. There is only one more woman besides him. Both of them is silent during the short trip, but when the doors of the elevator open, the man immediately closes them back by pushing the button of the highest floor. The woman asks him why he did that, because that woman just wanted to get in. Then he tells her about the various colored bracelets they give in hospitals, for example the red means dead, and he adds that the woman they saw was his client who died a few minutes ago and was wearing a red bracelet. Then the woman, who's in the elevator with the man, raises her arm and asks: 'a bracelet like this?'”

Scott moans, and the others laugh at him. However, Isaac is freaked out a little as well, he's just doing his best not to show it for the others.

Their evening passes like this—with Stiles telling them several horror stories until all of them fall asleep.

~

In the morning they continue their trip after having breakfast (mentally thanking Erica for the glorious meal) and after Susan calming Stiles down by telling him that approximately only four more hours to go, and they arrive to their destination.

After four and a half hours, they do arrive to a flower-covered field.

“Yeah, um, are you sure we were meant to come here?” Stiles asks, approaching Susan for the map.

“A hundred percent,” she says. “The map obviously says we were bound to come here,” Susan looks around, then points at something in the distance. “Look. That must be what we're here for.”

“The gate to the underworld?” Stiles asks skeptically. Susan shrugs.

“Whatever you want to call it. Let's go, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, she starts walking, the rest of the team following behind. The closer they get, the more obvious it becomes that it's a shrine—a small, stone-built typical Greek-styled shrine. Next to the entrance and the two Corinthian columns there are two pomegranate trees standing, just small enough not to be in the way and just big enough to function as an arch for those who decide to enter the place. After stepping on the two stairs, they all go inside. The floor is made of silver-gray marble, it reflecting every shape and every object.

“I knew you'd come,” a feminine voice says, which brings them to a stop.

They look around, but see no one. Their confusion lasts until a woman shows up from behind one of the columns. She's wearing a typical Greek dark blue dress, almost black, with matching sandals and a golden ring on both of her upper arms. The lower end of her dress is sliding on the ground, and it's made of silk, obviously, since it's shiny and compliments her curves. Her long brown hair reaches the middle of her back and is following each of her movements. She also has a gold bracelet on each of her wrists, a silk cloth attached to them and to the rings on her arms. It is the same color as her dress and it reminds Stiles of the _white tie_ dress code regulations where the ladies are bound to wear shawls along with their dresses.

“We're here because you attempted to kill demigods in the half-blood camp,” Derek says, ignoring the woman's welcoming smile.

“Don't sound like a cop, Derek,” she says, her voice almost resentful. Derek frowns and his face goes rigid. His jaw is clenched strongly, it even causing a little nerve to jump constantly on his temple. Kate starts to approach him slowly.

“I can see you all came here with such nice weapons,” she keeps talking. It irritates Derek. “But why? Why would you want to fight when we could get over with this so easily?”

“Easily?” Isaac asks before he could stop himself. Kate smiles at him.

“Sure. How about leaving Derek here, and you all go home?”

“We're not leaving him here,” Stiles speaks up, taking a step closer to Kate as a threat. “And not just him, but _anyone_.”

“Oh, my dear little Stiles,” Kate coos and walks in front of Stiles. He grabs the boy's chin and lifts his head so she can observe his face well. “How are you feeling? I'm so sorry for using your pretty body, but it was needed, you know?”

Stiles spits in her face.

“Don't touch me.” His voice is unprecedentedly low, and in a heartbeat, he has his sword in his hands, holding the weapon firmly and stable.

Derek taught him all the types of swords and their usage—there are one-handed, one and a half-handed and two-handed swords. His is one and a half-handed, which is meant to be used by being held with one hand lazily, while the blade is moved and directed with the other. Stiles registers from the corner of his eye that Allison has her bow in her hands, with an arrow aimed at the woman already. Good. Backup is always good.

Then Stiles attacks her. He's moving his sword easily now, thanks to Derek's cruel trainings (which, okay, weren't that cruel, but he was always at the verge of dying by exhaustion by the time Derek announced that was all for that day). Stiles goes for stabbing, not slicing, obviously, because only the tip of the sword is sharp. (Once because swords were made for stabbing, and twice, if they were sharp sooner or later the blade would break when it collides with another one.)

But Kate appears to be better than that. She can easily dodge each of Stiles' attacks, no matter what he's doing. The sword is heavy, it already having Stiles to be sweaty, but he couldn't care less about that of a matter. It's more important to finish this woman now.

Before his next attempt he's stopped, though. His feet are rooted into the ground and the only thing he can do is stare. His mouth gapes open and his eyes widen in disbelieving surprise. The sword collides to the ground with a loud clinging sound, his eyes tear up and Stiles stutters out.

“D-Dad?” he takes an unsure step closer, his hand already raised a little to grab the man, who's merely one or two meters away from him. “Dad?” Stiles asks again, this time with more conviction and confidence in his voice.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, and hearing that voice is enough for one of Stiles' teardrops to escape from his eye and slide down on his face. Faintly, Stiles registers that Allison dropped her weapons as well to hug a redhead close to her, Isaac is pale by being scared to death, Susan is already on her knees, crying, and Scott and Derek yelling something. Something about not paying attention, but who cares? How could he possibly care when _his Dad is standing right in front of him_? He could even _hug_ him, for God's sake, and all it takes is a step.

“Don't!” Derek shouts. In the next second he's behind Stiles, his hands on the teenager's shoulders to prevent him from taking any steps closer to his Dad.

“Let go of me!” Stiles yells back, trashing in between Derek's arms those snaked around him a moment before. “He's my _Dad_! Why don't you let me hug him?”

“It's Kate. That is just an illusion to drive your attention away from her. Scott is already dealing with Allison. Please, don't make it any harder, just believe me. _Trust me_ , Stiles.”

“How can the two of you stay so calm when you could deal with your dead relatives, too?” Stiles yells, the anger still present in his voice.

“Scott still has both of his parents, and Kate wants to take me with her, so there's no point to show me anyone. She doesn't want to kill me.”

That last line is enough for the reasoning part of Stiles' mind to resurrect. He thinks everything through again from a rational angle.

“You're right. Damn it, you're right. She could easily finish us while we're busy with those illusions.” Derek lets go of Stiles and they look around.

It turns out that it was easy to only bring Stiles back alone.

Scott is still trying to convince Allison to let go of her mother, and Isaac is still trying to hide from his abusive father. Susan is petted by a woman—probably her mother, too, while Malia is stunned by a little girl.

“Thank God you're a son of Athena,” Derek says. Stiles smirks at him. Thanks to the fact that he's a child of the goddess of wisdom and knowledge, he was easily dragged back by a logical trail of thoughts. “Take care of the others, I'll deal with Kate.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks and Derek nods.

“Just trust me on this.”

They look at each other's eyes for a while, then Stiles nods and runs for Susan. If he manages to bring her back, too, it's going to be much easier to wake the rest of them as well.

“That wasn't nice,” Kate says in a hurt tone. “You deprived him from the best death he could have imagined. He could have died in the arms of his father.”

Derek snarls. “He's not dying. Not now, not by your nasty games,” he says and tugs the sword off of its sheath. He points it at Kate. “You remember whose child I am, right?” Kate doesn't seem to be freaked out. “You _do know_ that _Nemesis_ bred me, don't you? Then you must also know that I'm never leaving a business undone. I won't rest until I avenged what you have done to Stiles, my family and the camp.” Kate snickers.

“Then come at me. But be careful, baby, or you may end up in the underworld with me before laying a finger on me.”

Derek doesn't waste his time to argue back. Instead, he organizes his strength, then attacks Kate with everything he's got. She leaps away from the stab with a dainty move, but she can't dodge the way Derek hits her with the sword. Kate hits the wall with a dull thud, then collapses on the ground. Her reflection looks pitiful in the polished marble that's smooth as glass. Derek grabs a handful of her hair and staves her face into one of the columns. A trail of blood starts flowing into her mouth from her nostril. She spits out an amount of blood before looking at Derek.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he says in a firm voice. Kate smirks, her teeth covered in blood.

“Yes you are.” Derek frowns at hearing that and pure anger washes over him. He manhandles Kate onto her feet only to pin her against the wall and point the tip of his sword under her ribcage, somewhere where her kidneys must be.

“I'm. not. going. anywhere,” Derek says, putting stress to all of the words each. “Especially with you.” A wet laugh bubbles up deeply from Kate's gullet.

“See it for yourself, baby boy,” she says. Derek only has a half second to raise an eyebrow in confusion before he registers that the ground is gone from under his feet. When he looks down he only sees a dark fluid (or fog? He's not entirely sure which one) circling under him.

Then the next second they start sinking slowly.

“I told you you'd come with me sooner or later, didn't I?” she coos, and pets Derek's hair. Derek can remember the moment well when Kate was spelled out of the camp; after walking a few meters she turned back to make that promise to him. “Now even if you stab me, nothing will happen. In maximum twenty seconds both of us is going to be in the afterlife.”

“Shit! Derek!” Hearing Stiles' voice is relaxing and disturbing at this situation for Derek with equal measure. He doesn't want Stiles to see him being dragged to Hell, yet he wants Stiles to do something, to stop him from sinking down, to save him.

In no time Stiles is next to them, completely ignoring Kate's smug laughter of victory. He wraps his arms around Derek and starts pulling. Derek is sunk to his knees.

“Come! Help!” Stiles shouts. Scott and Susan arrive to help him. They grab handfuls of Stiles' clothes and limbs to support him and prevent him from being dragged down as well.

Derek is already halfway in, the circle at his waist.

“Derek, stab her!” Stiles yells, his voice panicking. He has to fight back a panic attack. He keeps telling himself that if he dares to have one Derek is going to be taken for sure, and that's something he just _can't let happen_. He can't lose Derek now, not after only one day of being officially a couple, not when their life together is just starting.

Derek raises his arms, even though it's really hard for him to do, since the sword has already been under the surface of the floor. The rest of their team—Malia, Allison and Isaac—arrive as well, grabbing Derek's body, this way making sure he won't sink any lower. They make enough room for Derek to move his sword, and once he found the most perfect angle, he stabs the weapon right into Kate's chest. Like she said before, she's not going to die from it, but it gives enough time of a heartbeat for the demigods to haul Derek out from the sinister black circle.

Kate screams and sticks her hand up to try to grab onto something, but the gate to the underworld closes, leaving the seven of them panting on the marble ground.

~

Back at the camp they all go to do their own businesses. First of all, all of them take a shower at the lake (boys and girls separated), then Malia and Susan go to visit Peter in sake of telling him about everything that happened.

Isaac goes to visit Erica to thank her for the meals she prepared for them and also, to learn the method of making his favorite food.

Scott and Allison spend the night together at Allison's house. They need a little time alone after all that happened. They cuddle under the blankets and let the sounds of the night to lull them asleep.

As for Stiles and Derek, they are at Stiles' cottage. Derek doesn't want it, but Stiles urges and basically _forces_ him to talk through everything that happened to them during the quest.

“It was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it?” Stiles asks. “When you told me you'd 'help her to find her own life' you meant you wanted to kill her, right?” Derek sighs.

“Kind of. But I didn't kill her in the end.”

“From a certain angle, you did,” Stiles states. “She was sent to the underworld through the gate. Which was, okay, not something that you created, but still. But then, coming to think of it, _all of us_ killed her, because none of us tried to help her, either, so—”

“Stiles?”

“Yes?”

“You talk too much.”

“But why? I'm just telling facts here, you see, and—”

“Stiles?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“But—”

“How about a date tomorrow?” That surprises Stiles. Derek can see it, he can see his face due to the moonlight, and thus he could see the way those huge amber eyes widened. Then Derek also witnesses as a huge grin shines up on Stiles' lips.

“Do you have to ask? I'm totally all for it.” Stiles beams his cutest smile at him. “What will we do? Where do you want to go? And how do we get away from here? Also—”

“Stiles?”

“What is it now?” he groans.

“I love you.”

Stiles' happiness can't be interpreted better by _that_ certain smile creeping its way onto his lips again.

“Love you too.”

Derek marks that smile as his by locking his lips together with Stiles'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I want to thank **EVERYONE** for all the comments you left for me and helped me write this story!_ I'm positive I wouldn't have been able to write it all the way through without all the support I was given during this whole time. Really, I'm grateful.
> 
> Though it is the final chapter of the storyline, I promised eleven. The 11th one is going to be an epilogue (a rather long epilogue), with fluff and cute Sterek scenes all over it. I suck at depicting battles, but I think the descriptions of romantic scenes are meant for me. So I'm looking forward to writing it. :)
> 
> I really hope the finale wasn't a letdown to anyone.
> 
> p.s.: I gave Nemesis for Derek as a godly parent because I thought the goddess of retaliation is the most fitting for him. I think he's an avenger due to what happened to his family. Also, in the first season his priority was to get his revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is my very first work that I posted to AO3, so please bear with me. ^^'
> 
> I needed to make a few changes to be able to write this story; for example I know Boyd has a slightly different personality, but I thought I could get away with it with him being a satyr. I also changed the role of Stiles' parents, but it was needed. And yes, I'm also a huge fan of The Maze Runner Trilogy, as some of you could realize it from that one sentence I attached ("Day one Greenie, rise and shine.") I had to, I watched the trailer like a million times already and I'm a little too excited about the movie. (I'm also planning on writing a Teen Wolf-Maze Runner crossover later, but I want to finish this one first. But I already have the basic idea for that one, too.)
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this so far. Getting responds would be great, it would encourage me to keep writing it, and would even give me the guts to share the TW-MR crossover here later.


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